Corin
by Isabeau of Greenlea
Summary: The provoking young Cousland Grey Warden stands squarely in the way of Anora's ambitions.
1. Chapter 1

"It is good of you to come see me, Warden," Anora said, studying the young man before her with some curiosity. During the rescue at Howe's estate he'd had a closed helm on and the only impression she'd received was that of a firm voice lighter in timbre than she'd expected for such a large man. That anonymity had certainly made it easier to slip away when Ser Cauthrien and her father's men had closed in on him.

Corin Cousland inclined his head politely. "Your Majesty." He was still in armor, though the armor had obviously been cleaned. There was a faint scent of soap about him. Without the helmet, his resemblance to Bryce Cousland was obvious, though he was considerably taller than both his father and his late brother. His hair was darker than Fergus' as well, a true black, but his eyes were all Bryce, a piercing blue. Anora could see nothing of his mother in him.

"I asked you here to discuss your possible support for my throne," she said, "but let me first of all express my sympathy for what happened to your parents. Eleanor in particular was very dear to me. It is very fitting that Howe met his death at your hands."

Something indefinable moved behind the young man's eyes. He was, in fact, _dismayingly_ young. Anora had known intellectually that Cousland was only nineteen, but there was something disconcerting about seeing it in person, the fresh-complexioned, young face with the terribly old eyes.

"It was a very satisfying moment for me, I will admit," came the offhanded agreement, as if the carnage he'd committed in the dungeons of the Arl of Denerim's estate were a matter of no particular import.

She began her spiel, spelling out her qualifications and the advantages that would accrue to Corin as her supporter, both in his capacity as a Grey Warden and as the last Cousland, finishing with "and the return of your teynir of Highever, of course." He had not seated himself despite her invitation to do so, seemingly all too aware of what sharp-edged armor could do to delicate furniture and he stood now at his ease, hip-shot, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, his expression thoughtful.

"So you are proposing an alliance?" he inquired mildly when she had done.

"Yes. Together we can accomplish much more than either of us can alone. Surely you see this?"

"I don't know about that. These last few months, I've accomplished quite a bit. And what of Alistair?"

"Alistair is a good man, to be sure. But I think we both know that he would not be a good king. He hasn't the strength to lead. Eamon would end up ruling through him and the bannorn would know and resent it. The old squabbling would start again. Alistair may be Maric's son, but crowning him would all but insure that Maric's kingdom would fall."

Cousland shrugged. "By your own admission, you ruled Ferelden in Cailan's stead. In our very brief acquaintance, you've made this claim numerous times. I'm a bit surprised you aren't asking me to influence Alistair to marry you, Your Majesty. You'd have another, younger, possibly even more biddable Theirin to lead about by the nose. And he would give your reign legitimacy. And hopefully, an heir."

She shook her head, vehement. "I have spent long enough ruling in a husband's name. I will _not_ be a figurehead!"

"Oh. I see. So this is about you after all, and not about Ferelden."

Anora stared at him, astonished and affronted. "You _dare!"_

"I do dare. If you recollect, I'm the one that got you out of your sticky situation with Howe. Your self-inflicted situation."

"What are you talking about?"

"How could anyone who is as savvy a ruler as you claim to be not know what Howe was? And knowing that, _why_ would you voluntarily walk into his presence unarmed and unguarded? The only possible explanation is that you _wanted_ to be caught. You knew you'd be safe enough. Howe would not dare engage in any hanky-panky with you-at least not until he'd dealt with your father in some final manner, which I'm sure was his ultimate plan. The only people who knew you were in Howe's custody were you, your maid and Arl Eamon. I went in after you with Alistair. Eamon, while he might find me a bit problematic at times, owes me too much and he certainly wouldn't do anything to risk his meal ticket Alistair. Yet somehow I'd barely wiped Howe's blood from my blade when Cauthrien, who is apparently foresighted in the extreme, just _happened_ to show up with a large party Loghain's finest to call me to account for my crime. Which no one could possibly have known about since it had happened mere minutes before."

"Perhaps one of the guards upstairs recognized you and knew that you would kill Howe. Perhaps they went to Loghain."

"Perhaps. But there were a _lot_ of guards upstairs. I know because I walked through them all on the way in. Why did they not just come downstairs to deal with me? That's what they were being paid for after all. There was never an alarm sounded. I don't think anyone upstairs knew what was going on." His air of diffidence dropped of a sudden and his blue eyes blazed as they bored into hers. "I think _you_ set all of this up in advance."

"And why in the Maker's name would I do that?" Cousland took a long stride away from her and began to pace. He was graceful for a big man and looked to be fast on his feet as well.

"Because you wanted Howe gone. And you wanted me gone. I'm a threat and I think you thought that Howe was influencing your father in some way, that if you could just get rid of him you could make your father see reason. So you walked into Howe's clutches, knowing that Eamon would _have_ to pull you out of them and also knowing that there was no way I'd pass up a chance to kill Howe. And you'd set this all up with Cauthrien in advance. Cauthrien, for all that she's a snippy bitch, has one overwhelming virtue-she is loyal to Loghain. She can't have been happy at the sorts of things your father has been getting up to. Perhaps, like you, she felt that it was Howe's influence that was making him besmirch his honor in such a fashion."

"You are speculating." Cousland spun on his heel with shocking swiftness to face her.

"Yes, I am. But it's not speculation when everything fits. You set it up so that I'll go after Howe and kill him for you. Then Cauthrien kills or takes me into custody, removing the other big threat to you and to your father. You don't know for sure that I'll take Alistair with me, but you are hoping I will because then that threat will be removed as well. You're able to slip away in the fracas, because you've arranged that with Cauthrien in advance. And because killing or capturing myself and Alistair is the true reason for this charade, Cauthrien doesn't arrest Morrigan and Leliana as accessories to the murder of Ferelden's premier nobleman. She has them cold and she lets them walk because they are of no interest to her. Not that I'm not grateful for that." He gestured irritably.

"The business about being in danger from your father was all hogwash. Cauthrien was not going to arrest you and bring you to Loghain. She was all about getting her hands on me and Alistair and taking us to him. Because you'd planned this with her well in advance. You had enough faith in me to believe that I was well capable of killing Howe," a decidedly nasty smile here, "but in the event he'd killed me instead, there was Cauthrien with her picked troops to get you out of his clutches. Howe wasn't at the point in which he was willing to oppose Loghain, so he would have given you up peacefully, claimed to have been keeping you safe. And in the unlikely event he didn't, my attempt on him would hopefully have seriously depleted the number of his followers, allowing Cauthrien to overcome him in pitched battle and maybe even giving her a chance to kill him herself. Everything fits."

Anora studied the young man for a moment, rather surprised. _There is a first-class brain there to go with the first-class sword arm! But then, both Bryce and Eleanor were always clever. _

"So," she said aloud. "If this conspiracy theory of yours is true and I do not say that it is, then where does that leave us?"

The young Warden resumed his customary diffident air. "That is a good question. I will be more honest with you than you have been with me-I am not impressed with your much-vaunted ability to rule. While it is true that you managed Ferelden's foreign and domestic relations ably in a time of peace, when things fell apart you let your father take over from you and act as regent. I can't imagine Celene of Orlais allowing anyone to do that to her and I don't think you have what it takes to rule this country in a time of war. And I'm not the only one. You've seen how Eamon regards you, it's basically 'be a good widow and be quiet and biddable and let the men handle things.'"

"I had noticed," Anora said dryly.

"I'll warrant most of the bannorn feels the same way. You won't be allowed to rule as Queen without a King."

"Ah, we are back to Alistair."

"I wouldn't wish you on Alistair. He doesn't deserve that."

Anora's annoyance flared. "Then what _are_ you proposing?"

"That's certainly the appropriate word. Proposing. That's what I'm doing."

"_You_? You are a Grey Warden. Such a marriage would be unprecedented. Could it even be done?"

"So is Alistair and we've discussed the possibility of your marrying him. I am also the last _legitimate_ Cousland, whose father was offered the kingship by the Landsmeet and turned it down. I was torn away from that same dying father by Duncan, who extorted a promise from him as he lay bleeding out on the floor that I should become a Warden in return for getting me and my mother safely to the King. Then my mother refused to come with us, remaining with my father so that she could share his last moments and buy us time for our escape, so my recruitment didn't even buy me _her_ life. I can only hope that she died quickly." He closed his eyes, obviously taking a moment to master himself, then looked at her once more. "They do call it the Right of _Conscription_, you know, not the Right of Asking Nicely. When this Blight is ended, the Wardens will have more than gotten their worth out of me and the First Warden can go sit and spin on a pikestaff." There was no overt anger in his words, but that mildness made them all the more compelling and more than a little chilling. _This is not a man to be trifled with,_ the Queen realized.

"I would be willing to name you Prince-consort."

"I would prefer to be King. In fact, I insist upon it."

"Then what advantage is there to me in that situation?"

"I would be willing to be a co-ruler with you. You are very good at some aspects of governance."

The young man's effrontery stunned Anora for a moment. Then she snarled, "Thank you _so much_ for the faint praise! Perhaps you should propose marriage to Alistair_, _since he is so much more biddable than I! Maybe he would be willing to bend over and submit to your rule!" The crudity surprised even her, she could count on one hand the times in her life she had resorted to such remarks. And this much ire in her tone had always brought Cailan to heel in a hurry. It did not even seem to register to Cousland as a threat. He seemed to find it more amusing than anything else. A genuine smile bloomed on his face for the first time and it changed everything about him. Anora was startled for the second time in as many minutes, this time at the realization that Cousland was an _extremely _handsome young man. She did not regard men in such a manner as a rule, tending to rate them in terms of their threat to her.

"Oh, I seriously doubt Alistair would be interested in _that_!" he was saying. "But I'm more than willing to watch while you propose it to him!" His expression sobered once more. "We appear to be at an impasse at present, Your Majesty. I do not object to ruling as an equal partner with you, but I will not be your kept dog. I have other options."

"Those being?"

"Putting Alistair on the throne and supporting him to the best of my ability. He would make me Chancellor, of course."

"And you would rule through him."

"When necessary. Hopefully it would become less so over time and I would certainly be much less self-interested than Eamon. But I would spare him this if I could. He truly does not want the throne and wishes to remain a Grey Warden."

"How convenient for you."

Cousland cocked his head to one side and gave her a thoughtfully pleased look. "It is, isn't it?" He then crossed fists and bowed, obviously ready to depart without waiting upon her dismissal. Anora gathered up what dignity she had left.

"There is still time before the Landsmeet, Warden Cousland. I will be here if you wish to discuss the matter further."

"Of course, Your Majesty." And he was gone.

* * *

><p>Whatever else might be said about the impertinent, infuriating Corin Cousland, he did not lack for energy. As the nobles flooded into Denerim for the Landsmeet, the young Warden was in and out at all hours, taking different members of his rather oddly assorted group of companions with him at different times. Anora's connections told her that he had definitely followed up on her suggestion about the Elven alienage and Eamon showed her the slaver documents that proved her father had stooped to actually selling Fereldens into bondage to fund his army. He also informed her that Bann Sighard's son had been discovered in Arl Howe's dungeon, as well as Bann Alfstanna's templar brother, both of them in very sorry shape. Eamon asserted that both nobles were going to lay charges against Loghain at the Landsmeet, as Howe had been his closest ally and presumably these actions had been done at his behest, or he had at the very least acquiesced to them.<p>

These things, further proof to her of her father's dissolution, did not make Anora sleep any easier at night. But they also did not distract her from finding out what information she could about the Warden who looked to be becoming a major player in the games that were to come.

The reports her people brought to her were fantastical, almost too much so to be believed. Had she not had absolute faith in her agents' competency and veracity, she might have dismissed them out of hand and recruited new ones to bring her the truth of the matter. Ending werewolf curses for the Dalish elves? Venturing deeper into the Deep Roads than even the dwarves dared go, to settle their succession problems? Cleansing the Circle tower of abominations, when even the Templars had thrown up their hands in surrender? Saving Arl Eamon's life and the lives of his family and vassals from a demonic plague of undead? All of these things simply could _not_ be true, particularly the rumor that the Warden's dragonbone armor was from a high dragon he'd actually killed! Anora suspected that last was definitely an embellishment-people liked heroes and the best heroes were always dragonslayers.

But however he had gotten it, Cousland had obviously done well for himself and for his companions. Growing up as she had, Anora knew more than a little about arms and armor and it didn't take the envious glances of Eamon's knights and men at arms to tell her that Cousland and his people were the best equipped fighters in Denerim-and that included her father and Arl Eamon. It was an impressive feat, given that he'd left Highever with nothing more than what he wore on his back.

As for his companions themselves, they were also almost too fantastical to be believed. Alistair was actually one of the more commonplace-a lost heir to the throne was almost a requirement among any self-respecting party of adventurers. The drunken dwarf was obviously comic relief. But the others? A real golem with_ free will_? A Quanari who wasn't, as far as her agents could tell, the usual run of Tal-Vashoth mercenary, but an actual Quanari and a Sten to boot? A very Senior Enchanter of the Circle, out loping over the countryside without a single Templar in attendance? And at the same time Cousland was also keeping company with a flagrantly _apostate_ mage, a gorgeous woman whose wardrobe choices had caused one of Anora's most seasoned, competent agents to stop in the middle of his briefing with an idiotic smile of reminiscence on his face.

The recent discoveries of an entire dead cell of Crows in a back alley and an equally dead Bard of high status in a house off the marketplace lent credence to the intelligence that the Antivan and Orlesian in Corin's party were an actual Crow and Bard. Apparently, once you were in Cousland's inner circle, he had your back and that was that, no matter what. Which was admirable, Anora supposed. He had also apparently been behind the recent precipitous drop in gang crime in Denerim, his small handful of companions succeeding where entire platoons of city guards could not. Upon reviewing her compiled reports, Anora had to wonder if the Warden ever found time for mundane activities such as sleep! Certainly her father, selling Ferelden subjects to equip and pay his armies, suffered by comparison with Cousland, who was apparently equipping his mostly non-human allies by solving every outstanding problem in Ferelden single-handedly. And he seemingly had no vices to speak of. He was not inclined to drink or partake of more exotic recreational pursuits and he did not patronize whores, male or female. If he was sharing blankets with anyone in his party, it could not be discovered, or at least he was not doing so under Eamon's roof. Such temperance in a young man was surprising-or perhaps not, given the amount of energy he threw into other things!

The day after her extremely provoking interview with him, the Warden disappeared with Alistair, the Senior Enchanter and the Bard and did not return to Denerim until two weeks later. Watching Eamon tear his beard out in frustration in the interim was entertaining-apparently the Arl had no real control or influence over Cousland and the last of the nobles were arriving. He was going to have to convene the Landsmeet soon. What was surprising was that immediately upon his return, the Warden requested an interview with her. Hoping that time had caused him to view her offer in a more favorable light, Anora granted it.

* * *

><p>Once again he came to her freshly washed and trimmed, in polished dragonbone. With him were two of Eamon's servants, each carrying an object wrapped in cloth. One was very bulky and one was long and sword-shaped. Cousland himself was carrying some papers and a very beautiful jar.<p>

"Please put those on the table by the couch, gentlemen, and then leave us. Shut the door after you," he directed the servants, with his usual sublime disregard for Anora's authority. She frowned and that frown deepened when, after they had departed, Cousland said, "I mean no disrespect, Your Majesty, but you might want to sit down." When she had done so, he set the papers and the jar upon the table beside the other two parcels, then leaned over and folded back the cloth on the bulkiest parcel.

Gilded dragonbone gleamed within the folds. Anora bit back a gasp, for it was Cailan's armor and shield that lay there, all clean and polished. The long package turned out to be Maric's sword, also cleaned to mirror brightness. She looked at the jar, which suddenly took on new significance.

"How?" she whispered, her throat tight. Then in a more normal voice asked, "You have actually been to _Ostagar_? How could you? How could anyone? Isn't it overrun?"

Cousland shrugged. "Not so much as you might think. Or even as bad as I thought it would be. There were darkspawn there, but not anything we couldn't handle. They were more like sentries, in truth. Wherever the horde is, it's not Ostagar." He gestured to Marric's sword. "Do you remember Elric Maraigne?"

Anora nodded. "He fell at Ostagar along with Cailan."

"Apparently not. He fled the battle instead. A little while back, I was crossing Bann Loren's lands and encountered a party of his militia with a man whom they ran through as I approached. It turned out to be Maraigne. As he was dying, he said that the King had entrusted him with the key to the Royal Arms Chest and that he had been supposed to give it to the Wardens in the event of Cailan's death. Instead, he buried the key there at Ostagar. He said that Maric's sword would probably still be there and drew me a map, asking me to go find it and see Cailan's body off if I could find that." The young Warden sighed. "I had too many other things to do to get to it right away-after all, the living take precedence over the dead. But I wanted to see if I could find it before the Landsmeet, and here we are."

Anora looked down upon her husband's relics and struggled to compose herself. She said at last, "You appear, if you will pardon my saying so, Warden, to have an endless supply of miracles at your disposal."

Cousland actually chuckled. It was a pleasant sound. "I've only ever seen one _real _miracle, Your Majesty. Everything else is just a lot of hard work that no one else wants to man up and do."

Anora looked at the jar. "Are you sure it was him?"

The Warden nodded, grave once more. "He was more than recognizable. And actually in pretty good shape. There was a new sort of darkspawn down there, one I've not encountered before. It was a necromancer. I think it might have done something magical to preserve the King's body and of course, the cold weather down there helped. I will not lie to you- they'd put him up on poles in a sort of display, like a standard. But he wasn't mutilated or violated in any way. I looked him over very closely. His injuries were the sort you get in battle, not from torture. They didn't take him alive, Your Majesty."

Anora let out a breath. That had been one of her deepest fears, kept to herself in the reaches of the night, that Cailan might not have died in battle, but had been taken, tortured, perhaps devoured while still living. Though the romance in their marriage had not survived, he had still been her friend and she would not have wanted him to suffer. It was perceptive of Cousland to have realized that would be a concern.

"Alistair and I took him down from there, armed and armored him and gave him a proper pyre. Then I gathered the ashes for you, bundled up the arms and armor and we left."

"Why did you burn him in the armor and then take it? That seems odd."

"For one thing, it was simply more dignified. For the other-the darkspawn had had the armor-they'd split the pieces up among themselves for trophies. That's why Alistair and I did all the work of dressing him and making the pyre. There was darkspawn taint on everything." She gave him an alarmed look and Cousland spoke quick reassurance. "But don't worry, the fire burned off all of that. It's safe now. It took me longer to get back than it might have because I took the sword and armor to the smith who made my blade, to get the armor re-strapped and padded, the shield repainted and everything polished back up for you." Anora examined the armor more closely and discovered that indeed all the padding and straps were new. It was battle ready. Then she looked at the jar and stroked her hand down the side.

"You went to considerable risk to do this. It was very thoughtful of you."

"He was my king," Cousland said simply, then indicated the papers.

"Those were in the chest. I think you should read them. I will leave you now. Good afternoon, Your Majesty." He crossed fists over chest, bowed and departed, leaving her alone with her husband.

A letter from Eamon, urging Cailan to set her aside. A couple of letters from Celene of Orlais, speaking of political alliance and hinting at a more intimate one. What was contained in the papers had not been much of a surprise to Anora. In the last two years of their marriage, she and Cailan had grown apart. They had been close childhood companions, Anora always in the ascendance, but that had not translated well into marriage. She had gone to her marriage bed a virgin, while Cailan had been having his way with the serving girls since he was fourteen. Despite all that practice, he was not a particularly skilled lover, though undeniably a vigorous one. Anora found sex to be painful and not particularly fulfilling, and after a couple of years of concerted effort, Cailan had given up on trying to please his undeniably lovely but cold wife in favor of other women who were more responsive or simply better at feigning response. This was both humiliating for Anora and a relief all at once. He had settled into a habit of sleeping with Anora once a month, at the time when she was hopefully the most fertile, then leaving her alone the rest of the time to be with other companions. That way he could look Eamon and the Council in the eyes and tell them that he was making an effort to solve the heir problem without exerting himself overmuch. Cailan had not cared to exert himself in much of anything, other than in following Duncan and the other Grey Wardens around.

In a way, it was amusing, Anora reflected. Alistair the bastard was living the life that Cailan the King had yearned after. Anora was not particularly impressed with Alistair. He seemed a good man, but he was more than clueless about the realities of politics. Though he was certainly handsome enough, she found herself reluctant to consider the possibility of entering into another marriage of convenience that turned out to be anything but convenient to her, where she did all the work and got none of the credit. She was getting older by the day and no longer had the patience to deal with a child in a man's body.

But if Alistair were to become King, and she did not wed him, someone else would end by ruling through him, either Eamon or Cousland. Most likely that would be Cousland, who had the youth and drive that Eamon lacked. Would that be a bad thing for Ferelden? Perhaps not. The Warden had grown up around political realities and possessed not only his own full complement of clues but most everyone else's besides. But where would that leave her? Dead? Imprisoned? The most favorable possibility would be that she would be shunted off to a dower gift property somewhere and maintained in respectful obscurity as dowager queen for the rest of her life. The very idea horrified her.

And what if she took Cousland up on his offer? Would he hold to his word? Or would he find ways to marginalize her, trivialize her, remove her from any influence or power? Judging from the reports she'd received, he was a man of his word. And he definitely took care of his friends. Would his wife of convenience count as such? How would it be to have Cousland at her back, an ally, defending her against all foes? How would it feel to have those swordsman's hands upon her body?

_Where in the Maker's name did __**that**__ come from?_ Anora grimaced. She had already known a pair of hands much like Cousland's and they had never brought much pleasure. "Erlina!" She called to her maid. "Draw me a bath!"


	2. Chapter 2

Many thanks to my kind reviewers-mille libri, macrazy99, none, anime/videogame freak, mutive, almost insane and apm, as well as anyone who reviews later. I've been writing fanfiction in another fandom since 2003 and Dragon Age is the first time I've felt an urge to branch out from that fandom. It's nice that everyone is so welcoming!

Anora is not someone I ever liked in the game. Corin was my sacrificial lamb play through so that I could explore the Noble Marries Anora ending. I prefer rogue characters, so I was extremely surprised to find myself so attached to my big Cousland fighter and even more so to find myself with the actual urge to write about him and Anora. I can't guarantee I'll update as quickly as I've done here on a regular basis, but I'll try not to keep the story hanging fire too long.

* * *

><p>Two young men in massive armor and a mabari strolled through Denerim's marketplace on a fine afternoon.<p>

"How did the Queen take you returning Cailan's ashes?" Alistair asked his fellow Warden. "You're a braver man than I am. She's got a nasty glare. Did she cry? I can't imagine her crying. But Anora crying would be worse than Anora glaring, I think."

"She was actually rather subdued. I couldn't really tell what she was thinking," Corin answered, his voice low. There wasn't anyone close to them, but there wasn't any need to be bellowing either. There was a fourth member of their party, but it was unlikely that anyone else would have noticed. Zevran was in full stealth guard mode at a discreet distance. The assassin had insisted, saying that they were probably safer in the Deep Roads than Denerim, this close to the Landsmeet. "I've not got any way of telling how attached to him she really was. I do know she seemed very relieved to find that they'd not tortured him, so there must have been _some_ sort of feeling there."

"I don't suppose she gave you an answer to your proposal. The Landsmeet convenes in four days."

Corin rolled his eyes and chuckled. "The timing wasn't exactly good, Alistair! Besides, I suspect she's not got much enthusiasm about it. I gave her a choice of co-ruling with me or you on the throne without her."

"I suppose…I could marry her if the kingdom really needed me to," Alistair said, his reluctance palpable. His Warden brother gave him an amused look.

"Could you really?"

"Yes. I guess. I mean, my male parts would probably try to crawl back up into my body and hide, but yes."

Corin laughed. "Don't worry! I told her she didn't deserve you."

"Thanks!" Alistair said, relieved; then, catching Cousland's smirk-"I think."

"The Anora The Glorious Ruling Queen Option, with or without Sideboy Cousland or Sideboy Theirin, was not put forward as a possibility."

"I'll wager she wasn't too happy about that."

"No I can't say that she was. But the only thing I'm worrying about right now is if _you're _actually all right with this. If she does agree to marry me and rule jointly, it will feel like I'm robbing you of your birthright."

Alistair stopped walking, halting Corin with a hand upon his upper arm. "Is _that_ why you brought me out here for this little talk?" Cousland nodded and Alistair snorted. His expression was absolute sincerity itself as he said, "Corin, you're _not _the one who robbed me of my birthright! I was robbed of it long ago. My father robbed me by foisting me off on Eamon without acknowledging me, and Eamon robbed me by making it abundantly clear that I should _never_ aspire to ruling in any way, shape or form. I may not be the brightest fellow in Ferelden, but that lesson was drummed into me so often and so thoroughly that I learned it through and through. So Eamon's out of luck now and it's his own damned fault."

Pooka took that moment to bark in approval at a stand they were passing, that sold little sausages on sticks.

"You know there's absolutely no way of knowing what's in those," Corin muttered to the mabari. Pooka merely barked happily again, his stubby tail wagging. The young Warden sighed, surrendered, engaged in a quick haggle with the merchant and bought two of the sticks for Pooka, holding them in his hand while the mabari delicately pulled the sausages off the sticks with his teeth and inhaled them.

"No more," he told Pooka sternly when the hound whined and looked imploringly up at him. "I can deal with dragons. I can deal with demons. I can deal with revenants. I _cannot _deal with a runny mabari!" With one last resigned, grumbling sigh, Pooka fell in beside them as they began walking again.

"Not to mention the fact that after years of neglect, I'm a bit peeved about being Eamon's golden boy now that I might suddenly be useful," Alistair said, taking up the conversation where they'd left off. "Don't think I've forgotten that crack he made at Redcliffe about there being no way I'd be considered for the throne unless the unthinkable happened. So nice to know it takes a full-blown _crisis _to get me some consideration!"

Corin raised an eyebrow at the ire in his voice. "I thought that the two of you had made up."

"We have. Mostly. Sort of. At least he didn't bring Isolde to Denerim."

"Thank Blessed Andraste for small favors!" Cousland agreed fervently. Just because he'd gone to considerable trouble to save the Arlessa's life didn't mean he had any respect or liking for the woman. He paused at a leatherworker's stall to examine a pair of gloves, picking them up, sniffing them, then setting them back down. "Not Antivan. Zevran would _not _approve." Giving Alistair a rueful smile he said, "You know, I've wished more than once that Maric had sent you to Highever instead of Redcliffe. Growing up with you as a foster brother would have been wonderful!"

Alistair looked wistful. "It would have, wouldn't it? Your father and mother have always sounded so nice to me, the few times you've spoken of them. And Fergus always seemed like the best big brother."

"They were and he was," was all Corin said. He still didn't like to talk about his family and Alistair didn't press.

"I was such an idiot during those early days, bleating about losing Duncan when you'd lost everything. I am sorry about that, Corin."

"It's all right. I understood. Duncan was the first person who'd actually asked you what _you_ wanted. He was a father figure to you and because you'd had so little of that, he was very important to you."

"Even so, I did a lot of whining in those days. I like to think I do better now, but it's because of those days that I think you need to be king rather than me. There I was, crying in my ale over Duncan whom I'd known for a whole six months while you, who had lost so much more, your home and your entire family, had picked yourself up and were doing what needed to be done to fight the Blight. I dumped absolutely everything on you and it wasn't fair." He shuddered. "Maker, I hope Anora agrees to marry you! I _really_ don't want to be king!"

"I'll help you if it comes to that, Alistair."

"I know you will, brother. And believe me, it's the only thing that allows me to contemplate the possibility without gibbering." He gave Corin a sidelong look. "Even if we stop the Blight, it's going to be bad, isn't it? There's so much land blighted already."

Cousland nodded. "There are a lot of people displaced and dispossessed and just figuring out how to get them through the winter alive is going to be quite the undertaking. And most any solution is probably going to involve trampling on what the banns believe are their sovereign rights. I've been giving it some thought but I've not come up with anything definite yet."

"But you're already giving it thought. That's exactly what I mean when I think you'd make a good king."

"It's early days to be worrying about that just yet. One problem at a time. There's still the Landsmeet to get through and the Blight to end. I just hope that Anora comes to her senses. We could use her support."

"But we ought to be in pretty good shape bann-wise even without her, oughtn't we?" Alistair said thoughtfully. "After all, weren't half the prisoners we rescued in Howe's dungeon nobly connected? And whoever it was we killed Captain Chase for ought to be on our side as well-if the Crows let him know we helped. You probably should have held off killing Vaughan Kendall though. He'd have been another vote."

"I did actually think about that at the time!" Corin protested. "For a whole ten seconds! But he wasn't worth the trouble. He was a pig in human form and saying that's an insult to swine in general."

Alistair's laugh rang merrily out across the marketplace, causing heads to turn in their direction. "I think your blood was just up after killing Howe. And if we lose by just one vote, I'm going to blame you!"

"And I'll accept it." Corin walked on silently for a few moments, then said, "Alistair, I honestly don't know how this will go down. Even if we have the vote, if Loghain doesn't step down it could get ugly. It wouldn't be the first time there was bloodshed in the Landsmeet chamber. It's quite possible it might come down to a fight or a single combat."

"Do you really think so?" The question was casual enough, but Corin could hear the yearning in it.

"It's a possibility. And if it does come down to single combat, then Loghain is yours."

"Are you certain? You've got cause as well."

"You stood back and let me have Howe. That was all I wanted. Not to mention that Anora probably wouldn't want to marry me if I killed her father. Loghain's all yours, but you need to take him _down_, Alistair, or we're all dead."

Alistair Theirin's eyes went flinty, his mouth hardened, and for a moment he looked, if only he knew it, very much like his father. "I think I can manage that."

"I'll just bet you can!" Smiling, Corin made the Crow hand signal for "come on in" and Alistair, who had learned the meaning of such things over time as well, grinned.

"Heart-to-heart officially over? Drink time? At the Gnawed Noble?"

"Yes. I think the group purse could support a round or two."

Whereupon the Antivan assassin appeared seemingly out of nowhere at Corin's elbow.

"That is most excellent news!" Zevran purred. "To paraphrase that lovely Dalish keeper-when drinks are promised I will come, with great speed and purpose, to consume as many as you are willing to buy!"

Laughing, the three hastened to the tavern.

* * *

><p>Anora was not a prisoner in Eamon's house by any means, but neither could it become known that she was there. So the gardens were not an option and after almost three weeks of indoor confinement she yearned for some entertainment. So she actually welcomed the Warden's return, despite the fact that the pressure to give him an answer was intensified. He livened Eamon's house up by his mere presence, his energy seeming to permeate the place. Trying to observe him without seeming to do so was a challenge that she found very stimulating, albeit a bit undignified. She was, after all, long past the age when she should have been peeking around corners and listening at doors to catch a glimpse of some boy she had a crush on. But she found herself doing just that in an effort to understand this very young man who sought to bind her to him.<p>

The day after their second interview, she got a chance. Anora was in the library when she heard the front door open. Alistair's, the Antivan's and Cousland's voices were all raised in cheerful argument when they came in, only to fall suddenly silent. Anora moved behind the library door, where she could peer through the crack without being seen.

The apostate mage was standing in the hallway, clad in one of her ridiculous outfits. This one looked like it had dropped out of a tree onto her and had almost missed. The Antivan glanced at her, then at Corin, then inclined his head to her. "Good afternoon, Morrigan. I trust life is good for you, yes?" Without waiting for an answer he headed upstairs. Alistair shot the witch a glare that was pure acid in his turn. "Morrigan," he acknowledged her curtly, then followed Zevran, leaving Corin and his mabari standing alone in the hall with her.

The hound strolled over to Morrigan and shoved his head beneath her hand. She gave him a look that was almost affectionate and commenced fondling his ears.

"Is something the matter, Morrigan?" Cousland inquired quietly, with what Anora was coming to realize was that _defensive_ diffidence of his at full force in his voice and manner.

"I should say so!" the mage exclaimed indignantly. "Leliana wants to go shopping with me! _Shopping! _The merchants in the marketplace are having something called a Torchlight Sale this afternoon and evening and she wants to look for bargains, she says. Make her stop, Corin!"

The corner of Cousland's mouth twitched. "Would that truly be so terrible? You can't spend all your time studying that grimoire. You might even have fun."

"_Shoes_ were mentioned, Corin! More than once! _Shoooeeeessss!_" The last word had a decided Orlesian lilt to it that made Anora think the witch was mimicking the bard.

Cousland winced. "That _is _serious! Still, you might even enjoy that. You might find some nice boots, the ones that come up over the knee that you like so much."

"Why? This pair suits me perfectly well and I have no one I need to impress." To Anora's amazement, the innocuous remark caused Cousland's façade to suddenly crumble. He looked absolutely stricken.

"No, I don't suppose you do at that," he said, so softly Anora could barely hear him. The witch for her part looked taken aback, embarrassed and possibly a little stricken herself.

"Corin-" she began, only to be interrupted by his up flung hand.

"It's all right, Morrigan." He fumbled at his belt and offered her his purse. "Leliana knows where all the good jewelry stores are too, you know. If you indulge her with the shoes, perhaps she'll take you to some of them. Go buy yourselves something pretty."

Pooka whined, troubled. Morrigan took the purse. Anora saw Cousland shiver when her hand touched his.

"I am sorry, Corin," the witch said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he said firmly, control reasserting itself as Anora watched. He even managed to force a smile.

"Very well then. But just so you know, she keeps staring at my breasts. If she touches them, I _will_ kill her! I don't care if she's the best archer-"

"Morrigan. Go find Leliana. Now. _Please_."

The witch actually did as she was asked without further argument, looking back over her shoulder at the Warden with what could possibly have been regret. When she had gone upstairs, Cousland dropped his face into his hands for a long moment. Then he lifted his head, turned and took three long, swift strides into the library. Taken by surprise, Anora barely had time to get herself out from behind the door and dispose herself at a nearby bookshelf. She could feel the Warden's eyes upon her.

"Maker! Your Majesty. You heard that, didn't you?"

Anora turned to survey his distressed face, contemplated lying for a moment, then discarded the idea. _All unknowing, he has given me an opening…it would be a shame not to exploit it._

"I _saw_ it, actually," she said, with a small, cool smile. "You never mentioned that you were in love with another woman when you were proposing to me, Warden."

"It's not like that."

"Not like what?"

"I mean, it doesn't signify. It's over now, as you saw, and in any event…I suppose we should talk about it, shouldn't we? If you would care to, of course." He was totally discomfited, to Anora's great delight.

"I think I _would_ care to," she declared regally. "In my rooms, Warden. Tea. In half an hour. And lose the armor. I tire of having you loom over me like that golem of yours." She swept out of the library feeling ever so pleased with herself.

* * *

><p>Cousland appeared punctually, having done as she commanded. Anora was a bit surprised when she saw him. As usual he'd taken the time to wash up first, but the tunic he wore to their meeting, though perfectly clean and of a blue that set off his eyes, looked more like something a tradesman or even a farmer would wear. He saw her nose wrinkle and hastened to explain.<p>

"I am sorry, Your Majesty, but I spend most of my days in armor any more. And I had a late growth spurt and outgrew the things I brought from Highever. So I've had to pick up clothes as I could find them on my journeys."

"I've been led to believe that you have come to Denerim from time to time in the last few months, Warden. There are tailors here."

"True enough. But quite frankly, I've had more important things to spend my money on than fancy clothes."

"Yes, I know. I saw," Anora drawled. "Shoes and boots and jewelry for the ladies in your party."

Cousland's blue eyes blazed suddenly, but his voice was perfectly level as he said, "Morrigan and Leliana have faced blood mages, assassins, abominations, wild animals, dragons and demons for me. Not to mention hordes of darkspawn and they aren't Grey Wardens so it's far more perilous for them. If they want to indulge in a little shopping from time to time, then it's the least I can do. And if that means I'm not dressed as befits my 'noble station' as a consequence, then so be it."

"That's certainly very gentlemanly of you, Warden," Anora said in a conciliatory tone. She gestured to the other end of the couch. "Please be seated. Erlina will be bringing us tea in a moment. I thought you might be hungry so I made sure there is a little extra."

Cousland hooded his eyes and inclined his head. "And that is very kind of _you_, Your Majesty. Wardens have big appetites."

"So do young men who aren't Wardens," Anora noted.

The young Warden settled himself gracefully down in the space indicated and stretched his legs out under the table that had held Cailan's effects not so long ago. Out of his customary shell of armor for the first time, Cousland was quite pleasing to the eye. Perhaps the slightest bit taller than Cailan and just the tiniest bit lighter. Definitely more narrow in the waist, but overall very similar in build, with the same sort of sense of coiled power her late husband had possessed. He had a very nice, graceful neck, which was something Anora had always noticed about people. Nicely muscled legs as well. And he wasn't particularly hirsute for a dark-haired man-there was no blue-black shadow in the shaved areas above his neatly trimmed beard and his fingers showed only the lightest dusting of hair. On an aesthetic level at least, the prospect of marrying him was not an unpleasant one.

Erlina bustled in then, assisted by Nigella, one of Eamon's elven housemaids, carrying a tray with a tea service and another tray with a variety of pastries, meats and cheeses. The two of them set the food out swiftly and efficiently upon a clean white cloth on the table , then departed without saying a word. Cousland surveyed the rather sumptuous spread, then after some deliberation, picked up a slice of cheese and sampled it. He made an appreciative noise and swallowed.

"The good stuff! Alistair will be jealous." Seeing Anora's quizzical look, he explained, "Alistair is a total cheese hound. He'd live on the stuff if you let him."

"I do hope that you keep him well supplied with roughage then," Anora said primly. Cousland made an odd, stifled noise and after a moment she realized that he'd actually bit back a laugh. He looked at her, the corners of his mouth crinkling, his eyes twinkling with humor rather than anger this time.

"It is an ongoing battle," he allowed after a moment.

She poured tea for both of them. "Milk? Sugar?" she inquired.

"Both, please, and plenty of each." So she fixed his cup as she usually fixed her own. He took it up and sipped. "That's absolutely perfect! Thank you!"

_Well! It seems we concur on one thing at least!_ Anora took another long sip of her tea, savored it for a moment, swallowed, then said, "Now about your mage friend…Morrigan, wasn't it?"

Cousland took a hasty gulp of his own tea. "It was indeed. What is there to be said? We were lovers for a time and now that time is over. She started it and she determined when it was done. She was honest from the beginning about how she wasn't interested in love or commitment and if I lost sight of that it was my fault, not hers."

"Then you _do_ love her?"

"Yes, I do." The Warden's voice roughened for just a moment. "But as I said, that does not signify. We are no longer lovers, though we are still friends. And Morrigan will not remain with me forever. I expect in fact that she will leave as soon as the Blight is resolved. That was her original purpose in joining me, to help me resolve it. I am the one who complicated matters by becoming too attached to her."

"Why is she so interested personally in stopping the Blight?"

"She is from the Korcori Wilds. There is no returning to her home unless the Blight is ended."

"And you are willing to give her up to gain the throne?"

Cousland cradled his cup in his big hands and smiled sadly. "You cannot give up what you have never possessed. Morrigan is a creature of the Wilds-you cannot trammel her. I knew that going in and I still made the mistake of trying to get more from her than she was willing to give. So yes, my answer is that I am willing to forget about Morrigan and do my best to be a good husband to you. There are no little Morrigans or Corins on the way and even if there were, they would probably be mages and no threat to your children. Does that satisfy you, Your Majesty?"

"It is certainly honest enough, so yes, I suppose I am satisfied. Have you had any other attachments?"

"No emotional ones. I will admit that I was precocious in regard to sex and started a bit early. My parents saw to it that I had the funds to patronize one very exclusive house in Highever. They frowned on sleeping with the castle help and there were no other liaisons allowed outside of that house until I was eighteen. They did the same with Fergus when he was young. No known bastard children. I did have a dalliance with a lovely elf lady-in-waiting to a friend of my mother's the night the castle was taken. She heard the sound of the attack, opened the door and was slain by Howe's men, so _she's_ in no way an issue. Her name was Iona." Anora suppressed a wince, he frowned, and silence fell for a few moments as the Warden addressed himself to the food. Though he ate with impeccable manners, he was certainly putting it away, and with dinner only a couple of hours off. Anora wondered if perhaps the Joining was what had given Cousland his incredible energy and if all Grey Wardens were like that. If so, it was no wonder he needed all that fuel! _There may be one silver lining to losing all the Ferelden Wardens at Ostagar. At least we don't have to __**feed**__ them! I suspect feeding people is going to become very difficult in the next little bit._

"May I ask Your Majesty a personal question in turn?" he inquired, after finishing off a little meat-filled biscuit with obvious appreciation.

"You may."

"Did you love the King?"

Anora had been expecting that one, it was the one thing most people were curious about.

"We were friends from an early age and we remained friends after we married, but it never became more than that. I suspect," and here her tone went very dry, "that he would have set me aside for Celene in as friendly a manner as possible."

"I am sorry. Should I have not given you the letters?"

"I am glad that you did. Did you show them to Eamon?"

"No. He knew what was in the one already and the others weren't his business. Although I will warn you-Alistair was with me when we found them and has seen them. He may mention something to Eamon."

"Ah yes, Alistair. The two of you are certainly close, aren't you?" She sipped her tea. "It does not matter if he does. A Queen, no matter her other qualifications, owes one most important duty to the Crown. I have certainly failed in that and I do not dispute it." Her cup was set down in its saucer with an audible chink. "I think I have had my questions answered, Warden. Good day to you."

For once Cousland deferred to her authority. Setting the pastry he'd been nibbling down, he got to his feet immediately and bowed. "And to you, Your Majesty." He departed swiftly. There was no asking about her decision, Anora noted with approval, no overt pressure, though he must be feeling some this close to the Landsmeet.

_An intriguing young man_, she decided and rang for Erlina to take the tea things away.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to my new and repeat reviewers: mutive, JadeOokami, almostinsane, apm, mille libri and to my anonymous reviewers as well. Quoted a bit from the game in this chapter, but honestly, BioWare, I'm not profiting from this at all. I promise!

* * *

><p>Corin was cornered in the room he shared with Alistair the next morning by an effeminate tailor with a measuring tape, an Orlesian accent and a most irritating manner. His Warden brother straddled a chair and watched, eyes brimming with mirth and obviously doing his best to suppress laughter while Corin was poked, prodded, directed to take weird poses and measured in countless ways, all of this accompanied by endless muttering in Orlesian. The tailor had with him an assistant who never said a single word. His sole task seemed to be to note down the numbers the tailor fired off at him.<p>

Never so glad to shut a door behind someone in his entire life, Corin slumped against the wall when the tailor had gone and regarded Alistair balefully. His fellow Warden had buried his face in his crossed arms and was howling with laughter.

"Are you _quite_ finished?" Corin inquired of his friend.

Alistair looked up, wiping his eyes. "How many times did he retake that crotch measurement? Three? Four?"

"Four."

"He was enjoying himself!"

"Yes. I noticed."

"So did you hire that fellow? Doesn't seem like you."

"No, I suspect that was the Queen's doing. She was very disappointed in my clothing choices at tea yesterday. I think she wants to make sure I don't offend her eyes again."

"So-what _did_ you wear? Your sweaty gambeson or something?"

"The blue tunic."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Too lower class, from what I gather."

"Probably because it _is _lower class. Where did you get that one, anyway? Honnleath?"

"No, I think that's the one Bella gave me, that had been left at the tavern."

"Sooooo-is that _all _Bella gave you?"

"All I ever took from Bella was a kiss. You know that."

"But it was _quite_ the kiss!" Alistair grinned. He got up and stretched. "You're going to _glitter_ when Anora's done with you, you know that, don't you? You'll be shiny enough to catch Shale's eye. Look at all that shimmery stuff she likes to wear."

Corin groaned, crossed the room and threw himself down on the bed. "You don't really think so, do you?"

"Consider the evidence. That tailor for instance. I'll bet he likes to shimmer a bit himself. I wonder…" Alistair said musingly. "If she buys you small clothes too, does that mean you're engaged?"

Maric's son found himself eating pillow for breakfast.

* * *

><p>"My lady, you will want to zee this, I think," Erlina told Anora later that morning. With nothing better to do, the Queen followed her handmaiden down to the dining room, whose windows looked out upon the Arl's courtyard. To Anora's amusement, there had been a comfortable chair and footstool set by one of the open windows, as well as a table with a cup of the fizzing cider Anora particularly fancied. Erlina was nothing if not thorough.<p>

Out in the courtyard, Cousland and his companions were apparently having an arms practice. Or almost all of them were. The Wilder witch was nowhere to be seen and Anora had passed the golem on her way into the dining room. But the elderly Circle mage was present, though she was not fighting and was instead seated on a stool in the shade. She was in robes today rather than armor and was _knitting_ of all things as she kept a watchful eye upon the combatants. Anora recollected that the mage was a healing specialist. It made sense for her to be there for it was quite possible to be seriously injured in a practice bout.

The practice had apparently been going on for some time. It took watching for a couple of minutes to discern that some sort of round-robin was going on, where they all took turns fighting each other. The elderly mage was keeping track of the time with an sandglass and would call out the changes. A number of Eamon's off-duty guards were gathered around the edges of the courtyard watching, and Anora saw money exchange hands after one combination ended.

"Time!" Wynne called. It was apparently the last bout, for the combatants all broke apart and looked expectantly at Cousland.

"Water break! Like-on-like after the break!" he called, and they all headed over to the well where a dipper and cups had been set out for them. Anora could not hear what was being said as they were turned somewhat away from her. But from the look of things, Cousland was engaged in some sort of serious conversation with the Qunari, the bard was jesting with the dwarf and if she wasn't mistaken, the Crow was flirting outrageously with Alistair, who was red about the ears and glowering.

"Resume!" the mage called after a few minutes and the six paired off, the Crow and the bard fighting with two weapons, the Qunari and the dwarf squaring off with their two-handed swords and Cousland and Alistair taking up their swords and shields again. Though the Qunari and the dwarf were surprisingly well matched, the Crow was apparently the bard's superior in matters of dueling, which wasn't a surprise if she were primarily an archer as Morrigan had said. He interrupted their sparring often to correct the bard's stance or suggest a move.

Cousland and Alistair had their heads close together for a while before they began to spar and when they did, it was obvious that they were not playing around. Alistair's griffin-crested shield and Cousland's Redcliffe one met with a crash that was loud enough to make the watchers jump and that was just the opening blow in a battle that soon had the other companions stopping their sparring to watch and the guards and servants whooping and cheering their favorites on.

Anora got to her feet and moved closer to the window. This was her father's style of fighting, one she was familiar with. The two young men were masters of it and neither of them was holding back. War cries echoed about the courtyard. Shields whipped out in lightning fast slashes, lethal weapons in and of themselves. Time and time again the two clashed chest to chest, shield to shield, rebounding but never losing their footing, like a pair of mountain rams contesting for a peak. Swords, blunt though they were, battered with deadly force.

Alistair's face, beneath the winged Grey Warden helm, was set, determined. Cousland's could not be seen, but his blows were swift and furious. The Circle mage had gotten to her feet, her expression concerned. Combat at such a level was tiring in the extreme and could not be sustained for long. Sooner or later, someone was going to make a mistake.

And that someone was Cousland, whose foot slipped on a wet spot on the cobbles. His shield swung just the least bit too wide and Alistair was on him in an instant, sword and shield both lashing out, once, twice, thrice with such force that Cousland spun totally around before falling full-length upon his face.

The courtyard erupted in cheers, which subsided when he remained motionless. The mage threw healing magic at him immediately from where she was standing before hastening over. Alistair knelt at his side to remove his helm, only to be chastised by the mage.

"Don't touch him till I've looked at him, young man!" Cousland had fallen halfway between the well and Anora's window, so the Queen could hear her clearly. The mage cast another spell, carefully slid her hand beneath the helm and felt around for a bit; then, apparently satisfied, unbuckled it herself.

Cousland's face was pale when it was revealed. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, eyes closed, and raised one arm in a feeble wave to assure everyone that he was all right.. There was scattered applause from the watchers. Alistair drew his fellow Warden's arm across his shoulders and the Qunari came over to take him from the other side. The two men lifted him to his feet. His knees were definitely wobbly.

"Ow! Did anyone get the name of the bronto that hit me?" came the complaint.

"Maker! I'm sorry, Corin!" exclaimed Alistair.

"Don't be. I'll return the favor some time. Great bout. Was that enough full-out for you?"

"Definitely. My ribs feel like you danced the Remigold on them."

"Heh. Maybe you should take a look at them, Wynne. Never say I don't do you any favors."

"That will be enough from you, Corin Cousland!"

His companions had gathered around him. "Awful lot of drama for a headache," the Dwarf commented. "I live and fight with worse all the time."

"_Self-inflicted _headaches are not worthy of sympathy, Oghren," the bard said. "I am sorry, but it is true."

"I think we're done for the day," Alistair told the others, who set their practice blades in the rack provided for them and trailed their fallen leader into the house.

Anora went into the hall and watched them enter. In the short distance they'd walked to the front door, Cousland had much improved and was not leaning so heavily on the other two, though the elderly mage was still watching him with an eagle eye.

"Judging from that performance, I think you'll do just fine if it comes down to it," he was saying to Alistair, who nodded, then looked up and saw her.

"The Queen, Corin," he said quietly. Anora found herself the subject of a somewhat bleary, squint-eyed regard.

"Your Majesty. My apologies for not greeting you properly."

"It is quite all right, Warden. I trust you are not seriously injured?"

"Oh no. I'll be fine when my ears stop ringing. I'm just going upstairs for a wash-up and a bit of a nap. If you need to talk to me, I'll be glad to speak to you later when I'm more myself."

"Of course."

"I will accompany you, my dear Warden," the assassin declared all of a sudden. "After you have your bath, I am going to put my hands on you and work all those knots out."

"I would appreciate that. My neck is _sore_. And I am hardly in a position to resist, Zev," Cousland said, smiling wryly.

"Oho! While I do in fact prefer it when you are being masterful, I will certainly take what I can get!" Anora wondered if the Crow were merely flirting or if he in fact had something going on with the Warden as well. If so, Cousland was more flexible than she had previously imagined.

Another flood of green healing light washed over the young Warden, but it wasn't the elderly mage this time. The Wilder witch was stalking down the stairs.

"If what you take is liberties, elf," she said to Zevran, "just remember-you will never be missed!" Morrigan turned to her former lover. "Are you all right?" She seemed genuinely concerned.

"I'm fine. Alistair just got the better of me this time." Glowering at her least favorite party member, Morrigan's hand twitched reflexively. Cousland saw it.

"Don't, Morrigan! Your aim goes to pot when you're angry and I don't think being frozen will help my head. Would you be so kind as to brew me some of that headache tea of yours? Nothing works better than that."

"I will not be cozened, Corin."

"I'm not cozening, I'm asking you for something I'd really like to have. Please. Sten and Alistair can guard my virtue, such as it is."

"Very well," she said reluctantly and sauntered off. A deep sigh rumbled from the qunari.

"That sort of thing would _not _happen in Seheron," he declared. Cousland lifted his hand and patted the qunari's shoulder.

"Yes, I know, Sten. Cages."

The dwarf shuddered. "_Tea_? Whatever would you want to drink plant-piss for? A good stout drink'll put you to rights."

"That works for you perhaps, Oghren," Cousland said. "Not so much for other people. I think you'd come back from the _dead_ for a good stout drink."

"Hah! You're probably right. In fact, it might have happened already. It'd explain a few things." The dwarf headed off towards the kitchen. "Cooks said they'd have another cask in today. They'd better-I'm getting dry!"

Cousland stared after him in bemusement. "Just how fast is he going through those?"

"One every couple of days according to the cook," Alistair said. Cousland cocked an eyebrow.

"Since when do you talk to the cook? Sneaking down to the kitchen again, were you?" Theirin's eyes looked heavenward.

"There _might_ have been a nocturnal insertion intended to free some cheese from the cook's evil clutches. I'm not saying if there was or wasn't."

The bard came over then and kissed Cousland's cheek. "I am glad that you are feeling better, Corin. Would you like me to take Pooka out for you? Schmooples needs a walk and I can do them both together."

Cousland gave her a grateful smile. "It is getting to be that time, isn't it? Thanks, Leli. Come on up to my room when you're ready and get him. I'll tell him to go with you."

The oddly assorted group proceeded to the stairs and began to climb, Cousland complaining on the way up that they should "really try sometime to stay in a place that was all on one floor." Anora was left alone.

There was a sudden, vibrating rumble. She jumped. The golem was awake and staring at her with its uncanny, white-lit eyes. She took an involuntary step back. It shuddered, making a noise of grinding rock. It actually spoke, its voice seeming to echo from the depths of the earth.

"Ugh. Flesh creatures. _Entirely_ too squishy!"

* * *

><p>At dinner that evening, the young Warden looked fully recovered. Anora often took meals in her rooms, but had decided to join Eamon and the rest for once, so as to see what her potential husband's status was.<p>

It was a cheerful enough meal to start with, with Teagan holding forth on some funny things he'd heard about town. The bard, who had donned a dress for the occasion and was actually quite presentable when cleaned up, had proudly displayed a new pair of green shoes with gilt buckles and engraved heels upon her entrance; while the witch, wearing entirely too much mismatched jewelry and entirely too little clothing, had a new pair of gold earrings comprised of tiers of little bells, of which she seemed quite fond. She would give her head a little toss every so often, to hear them chime.

Anora saw Cousland stare at the witch a couple of times before taking himself in hand and turning back to the conversation. She honestly didn't see the appeal. Morrigan was beautiful to be sure, but her sensuality had a tawdry quality to it and the fact that Cousland seemed attracted to that sort of thing lessened her respect for him. _A pity. It would seem he is a young man capable of being led about by his nether bits like any other. _He was wearing another of those awful tunics, this one in a dark red color, but Anora was consoled by the fact the tailor had promised her the new clothing for the morrow. Certainly she'd paid enough for the rush job! She was curious to see what he'd look like properly dressed.

Anora attempted a time or two to turn the conversation around to politics, but Eamon wasn't having any of it, saying he'd gotten more than enough of that during the day. So she decided to mix things up a bit and find out some information while she was about it. Looking down the table to where the dwarf sat next to Cousland, she inquired, "Master Oghren-how did you come to meet Warden Cousland?"

The dwarf gave her a beery smile, and peered at her from red-rimmed green eyes.

"I met him down in Orzammar, as you might expect, Your Majesty. King Harrowmount, who was Lord Harrowmount then, had asked the Warden to find Orzammar's only living Paragon. That was my wife, Branka. She'd gone missing in the Deep Roads with our whole house two years before and I couldn't get anyone to go out and help me find her. I knew what she was after, you see, so I signed up with the Warden, figuring the two of us together would have a better chance."

"Your wife was a _Paragon_?" Anora had studied how Orzammar's society was constructed, as Ferelden did do trade with the dwarves. Paragons were considered living ancestors and the dwarves _worshipped_ their ancestors. They stood at the very pinnacle of dwarven society, arguably a cut above nobles, even the king. This drunken sot of a swordsman didn't seem the sort to belong in that most rarified caste.

But he took no offence at the question. "I know what you're thinking-how'd a sword-caste score a Paragon? But she wasn't when she married me, she was just miner caste. Then she invented smokeless coal. That made things so much better for everybody in Orzammar that the Assembly voted her a Paragon. The first one we'd had in four generations."

"And Lord Harrowmount wanted her support for his claim to the throne?"

"You're a very bright lady, Your Majesty. Got it in one." He covered his mouth with his hand and issued forth a small belch before continuing.

"So anyhow, we all go down into the Roads, me and the topsiders. And the Warden here, he commences to cut a swath through the Deep Roads the like of which has never been seen since Paragon Aeducan took command of the armies way back when. Caridin's Cross, Aeducan Thaig, Orton Thaig; he cleaned the spawn out of all of them like a spoiled lichen-paste sandwich cleans out a duster down on his luck. Good on ya, Warden!" His broad, shovel-like hand reached out to clap Cousland on the back with enough force that the Warden's knife skittered across his plate and shoved some of his braised carrots onto the tablecloth. The bard across the table giggled. Eamon and Teagan wore identical looks of appalled fascination. Cousland merely said "Oghren…" in a warning tone and started rounding up his escaped vegetables.

"Then we got to Bownamar." The Warden stiffened suddenly in his chair.

Noticing this, Anora asked, "What is Bownamar, exactly? I'm afraid I've never heard of it."

"Bownamar, my lady, is the city of the dead Caridin built to honor the Legion of the Dead. And the Legion of the Dead were down there, across the bridge from it, but they couldn't get in because of all the spawn. So we went in there and cleaned it out too. That's where I got this," he said, slapping the breastplate of his dull black armor. "Lots of spawn in Bownamar, which wasn't surprising since there was a sodding broodmother there."

Cousland set his knife and fork down with some force. "No, Oghren, we are not talking about broodmothers at the dinner table. Absolutely _not_!" He looked over at Eamon, belatedly realizing he was being presumptuous at the arl's table. "With apologies to you, sir."

'There is no harm done, Warden," the arl said mildly, "but I do confess to some curiosity. Is this something we should know about the darkspawn?"

"Probably, but this is not an appropriate time or place."

"Perhaps after dinner then? In my study?"

Cousland inclined his head. "As the arl wishes."

"Greeeaaat," Alistair drawled. "And here I was hoping to keep this very excellent dinner in my stomach where it's supposed to be." Eamon's eyebrow went up.

"I think I would like to hear about this broodmother as well," Anora said in the cool, commanding tone that indicated there would be no disputing her. Cousland did not look happy about that, but Eamon made a tiny bow from the waist up.

"As Your Majesty wishes."

* * *

><p>After dinner, most of them went upstairs to continue the conversation except for Wynne, who said that she was going on to bed; Sten, who said that he had meditations to catch up on and Morrigan, who walked off without any explanation at all. To Anora's surprise, before they left, Cousland strolled over to where the golem stood in the corner of the entrance hall.<p>

"Shale, some of us are going to have drinks and talk a bit upstairs. Would you care to join us?" The golem fastened its gaze upon the young Warden.

"How very mannerly of it. No, though I thank it for the thought. I have been upstairs and looked at the doorways. They appear to be on the small side and I do not want someone with a chisel to get any ideas about making me smaller yet, so that I might fit. I shall stay in this corner where I can see any chisel bearers from a way off and squish them if necessary. It should run along and do some of that chatting it so enjoys without me. Although… I would appreciate it if it would inform me the next time it endeavors to get seriously squished. I missed that this morning and it sounds as if it were very interesting. I should like to have watched."

A wry smile twisted Cousland's lips. "I'll be sure to do that. A good evening to you, Shale."

"And to it as well."

Anora looked at him quizzically when he rejoined them. "The golem calls you 'it'?"

Cousland grinned. "Since Shale calls Zevran the 'painted elf', Morrigan the 'swamp witch' and Wynne 'the elder mage', I'm perfectly happy with 'it'. There are so many worse possibilities."

"I see your point. How are you feeling? You seemed much better at dinner."

"I'm fine now, Your Majesty. Fit to fight, if necessary."

"Do you always think of yourself in such terms?"

"The last few months, yes."

"Practice usually goes the other way around," Alistair noted, joining them as they began to climb the stairs.

"Not so often as all that," his fellow Warden argued. "We're pretty evenly matched, when all is said and done. And you were really on your game today."

"Let's hope…let's hope I keep on my game then," Alistair said, with a sidelong look at Anora.

"And that I find mine again soon!" declared Cousland fervently.

Extra chairs had been brought to Eamon's study, which was certainly spacious enough to accommodate them. The arl also passed around some very good brandy, though the young Warden refused it.

"Wynne said I need to hold off a day or two. Something about drink diluting the humors and bleeding inside the skull.'

"Oh, laddie!" the dwarf said, sympathy warring with horror on his face.

"I think I'll survive, Oghren."

When all had gotten their drinks and settled themselves, Eamon asked, "So-what is the significance of this broodmother?"

Cousland looked pointedly at Alistair, who then spoke up. "Oh. Right. I should probably take this one." He looked around the group. "The thing you have to understand is that I was only a Warden for six months before Ostagar, so there's a lot of things the older Wardens never bothered to tell me."

"And we find more omissions every day, it seems," the other Warden commented. Alistair grimaced.

"Isn't that the truth! I guess they figured there would always be time for it later. Anyway, Corin's Joining took place a couple of _hours_ before the battle, so he didn't even get as much as I did. Among the things I did get told about the darkspawn was this-they come from us."

"But the taint turns people into ghouls if you don't kill them," Teagan protested. "I've never seen it turn someone into a darkspawn."

"That's not what I mean. Have you ever noticed how you don't see any lady darkspawn? They're all male."

"That is true," Eamon noted thoughtfully. "I'd never thought about it before, but you're right. I'm guessing there's a reason for that?"

"That's right. They don't breed as we do. There aren't colonies of lady darkspawn who stay beneath the earth. They come from broodmothers and the broodmothers are _made_ from women of the surface races that they capture and transform. Different sorts of broodmothers make different sorts of darkspawn. Human broodmothers make hurlocks. Dwarven broodmothers make genlocks, which is why you've always got more genlocks than anything else, at least at the start of a Blight, because the darkspawn are always fighting the dwarves. Elven broodmothers make shrieks, so there aren't very many of those and Qunari broodmothers make ogres, which is why there less of them than anything else. And why they have those big horns."

"There's a horrible sort of logic to that," Anora said, her brow wrinkling thoughtfully. "How exactly do the darkspawn transform these women?"

Leliana spoke then, her soft voice suddenly taking on an eerie, sing-song quality.

"First day, they come and catch everyone; Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat; Third day, the men are gnawed on again; Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate; Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn; Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams; Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew; Eighth day, we hated as she is violated; Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin; Tenth day she does feast, as she's become the beast."

"A dwarf named Hespith told us that," the bard explained in her normal voice to Eamon, Teagan and Anora who all looked a bit queasy. "She was Branka's captain. She looked as if she might have started to turn, but she was resisting it. She was definitely a ghoul and insane and followed us when we went after the broodmother. It was apparently someone she knew, one of the other dwarf women named Laryn. Branka's household had been taken by the darkspawn, all but Branka. I don't know if that is an accurate description of the process or not-she was insane, after all."

"What does a broodmother look like?" Anora forced herself to ask.

"Top part's not much bigger than the original, though it looks like a ghoul," the dwarf chimed in. "But there are nipples, lots of nipples! The bottom is a huge, pulsating mass of flesh with tentacles. Broodmothers are hellish tough to kill. They don't move about, but their tentacles can shoot up around them in different places and they spit and vomit and scream and flail like you wouldn't believe. Not to mention that the spawn guard them close and come running from all over when you attack one."

"Oghren killed that one for us," Cousland said quietly. The dwarf preened for a moment and took a gulp of brandy.

"Struck the killing blow, but I couldn't have done it without the Warden standing toe to blob with it and hammering it hard. The ladies pitched in as well."

"Ladies?" Anora inquired.

Cousland sighed. "Yes, Maker forgive me for I will never forgive myself. Leliana and Morrigan were with me."

"You couldn't have known that you would encounter such a thing, my friend. You are not to blame," the assassin said, stretching in his chair until his spine audibly cracked. Anora thought he might be trying to catch Teagan's eye. _Good luck with that. Or perhaps not…Teagan's an awfully old bachelor. There might be a reason for it!_

"I certainly never felt like I was danger, Corin," the bard asserted. "In more danger than usual, I mean. I wasn't worried that they would take me and do that to me-you wouldn't let them."

"Ah, Leliana," Cousland said, shaking his head. "Keep that faith of yours for the Maker." He turned his attention back to the three nobles. "You can tell when you are getting close to a broodmother-there are these ropes and pods of flesh growing all over everything. It's really disgusting. I've not asked you yet, Oghren-do the dwarves know how the broodmothers make the darkspawn? Is it eggs or budding or..the more usual way?"

"Far as we can tell, it's the more usual way, Warden. No accounts I've ever heard of have spoken of darkspawn eggs or pods."

"This does seem to suggest a strategy," Eamon noted. "Their ability to reproduce is centralized and immobile."

Cousland shook his head again. "Not really, at least as far as ending the darkspawn is concerned. We were _very_ far down in the Deep Roads. That was only one broodmother and I wouldn't be surprised if they keep their others even deeper and spread far apart. Maybe if the road between Orzammar and Kal Sharok were safe, and all the thaigs between retaken, humans and dwarves could start making expeditions out into the darkness to try to hunt them down where they live. But I don't think we'll see that any time soon." His mouth thinned and he suddenly looked grimmer and much older. "There is one thing you can do though."

"And that is?" queried Eamon.

"You can put out the order that if any of your men see darkspawn taking prisoners away and you've got archers but can't get to them, have the archers kill the prisoners. Maker knows they'd thank you for it if they knew what awaited them." He got to his feet. "If you will excuse me, Your Majesty, my lords, I think I'll go back to bed now."

"Sleep well, Warden," Anora said. "Pleasant dreams." She knew she'd said something wrong the moment Alistair's head snapped around and he gave her a startled look.

Cousland just smiled bleakly and inclined his head to her. "Don't I _wish_! Good night."


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks to my faithful reviewers-almostinsane, mille libri, none, Anony, apm and JadeOokami. I'm sure you folks and your enthusiasm are the reason this story seems to be almost writing itself.

We will be getting to the Landsmeet soon, I promise.

* * *

><p>The after dinner chat-fest broke up soon after Cousland's departure. Anora returned to her chambers, where Erlina assisted her in donning a nightgown and unbraiding and brushing her hair, then braiding it once more, in a single, looser braid to help keep it from tangling during the night. She washed her face and brushed her teeth, then dismissed the maid to a well-earned rest.<p>

Laying in bed in the darkness, she waited for sleep to come to her. It sometimes didn't since Cailan's death. Everything else aside, she simply missed his presence, the comfort of him beside her in the dark. He often spent the early part of the night in someone else's bed, but always came back, washed and fresh and warm, to drape a heavy arm across her. Masterful though she was in light of day, at night that arm made her feel safe. She felt anything but safe now, and impotent besides.

Perhaps there had been some truth to Cousland's assessment of her performance. _"…when things fell apart you let your father take over from you and act as regent. I can't imagine Celene of Orlais allowing anyone to do that to her and I don't think you have what it takes to rule this country in a time of war."_ After all, here she was, playing dead and hiding before the Landsmeet, because her father had the army at his disposal, giving her in effect no power at all. She had been worried about _Cousland_ trivializing and disenfranchising her, when her own father had already done that. At a time when all of Ferelden needed to be united against the Blight, her father the great general was wasting Ferelden's soldiers in fruitless battles against each other. And there was nothing Anora could do about it by herself.

She knew what Eamon wanted-to depose her in favor of Alistair; or as a second solution, to marry her to Alistair. And that was workable, she supposed. Alistair knew nothing about ruling or the usages of power. He would defer to her, let her do the work. Her big problem there would be Eamon, who would also be seeking to advise and influence the young man. But Alistair reminded her of Cailan in many ways and she was not certain that she wanted to relive that life again.

"_I would be willing to be a co-ruler with you. You are very good at some aspects of governance." _From what Anora had been able to observe, Cousland was a man of his word. And his pedigree was impeccable, generations of nobility, just what the daughter of a commoner-turned-teyrn needed to strengthen her own position. The nobles would find Bryce Cousland's son more than acceptable as king at this juncture, probably more so than the unknown, illegitimate Alistair. And there was certainly nothing wrong with the way he looked! He was the one who'd be getting the short end of that stick, marrying a wife who was almost thirty and ten years his senior.

His attraction to the witch was a drawback, but they were obviously no longer a couple. By his own admission, he had a healthy sex drive, which would be helpful for the heir-siring end of things. Anora had lived with one randy young man, she supposed she would survive another. She would simply have to ignore the inevitable indiscretions when they came, after Cousland tired of trying to make her enjoy an act she had always found bearable at best.

_Damn you, Cailan! Why did you have to go and leave me? I hope you're enjoying your tales and glory now!_

* * *

><p>After laying sleepless for what seemed like a couple of hours but was probably only closer to one, Anora finally gave up and rose from the bed, moving silently as possible so as not to wake Erlina. Donning a blue robe and slippers, she slipped quietly out the door and started down to the Arl's library. Though she'd done more than enough reading in the past few weeks, reading a book was infinitely preferable to laying in the dark alone with her thoughts.<p>

The lamps in the library had been snuffed for the night, but the table near the door held a couple of small lamps that could be carried, if someone wanted some late-night reading. Anora took one up and entered the room. The stacks looked ominous, filled with deep shadows, but there was a bloom of light off to the left where the reading table was. She moved towards it and found another lamp sitting on the table. Cousland was reading there, in shirt sleeves, a pile of books at his left hand. He looked up at her approach, rose to his feet and bowed.

"Your Majesty."

"I didn't mean to disturb you, Warden. Please sit back down." He did not, instead moving around to the other side of the table to politely pull out a chair for her. The shirt was hanging loose, untucked and he looked quite dissolute, in breeches and wearing slippers on his feet. Propriety dictated that she should not be here, in her nightdress, alone and unchaperoned in the wee hours of the morning with a young man who was half undressed himself. Anora decided she didn't care a fig for propriety. Seating herself, she reached for the top book on his pile as he moved back around the table and sat down again. It was, to her surprise, a book of Antivan poetry.

"Couldn't you sleep?" she asked him. "I am sorry if I seemed to be mocking you earlier tonight. It wasn't my intention. From Alistair's reaction I gather that Grey Wardens often have trouble sleeping?"

Cousland nodded. "We do. We tend to hear the darkspawn in our dreams when we sleep. It's part of our ability to sense them. People who become Wardens during a Blight often have more trouble with that and some people are more sensitive than others. Lucky me, I'm a Blight Warden and appear to be one of the more sensitive ones. And don't worry, we knew you weren't mocking. You didn't know about it, so how could you? Between the darkspawn and nightmares about Highever, I don't get a lot of good sleep. Though that nap this afternoon was very nice. Which is part of my problem now."

"You need your head knocked halfway off your shoulders to get a decent rest?"

The Warden chuckled that pleasant chuckle of his. "Apparently! As a general rule, it's easier for me to sleep during the day. It's as if the darkspawn aren't as loud. I just don't get the chance very often when we're traveling. Here in Denerim I go down for my afternoon nappy just like a five-year-old, when I can."

"What about Alistair?"

"He doesn't have as much trouble as I do. But he likes his naps as well, when he can get them. I think that perhaps his nocturnal cheese habit is because eating the cheese helps him to sleep."

"That's odd."

"Not so much. Don't we give children warm milk to make them sleep?"

"I suppose you're right. Though I doubt he'd appreciate it being put to him in just that way."

For a moment, Cousland's eye got a decidedly wicked gleam to it, though it might have been a trick of the lamp light. "No…I don't suppose he would."

"So-are there any other interesting facts about the care and feeding of Wardens that I should know?" She'd meant it as a gentle jest, but the young Warden grew very still. He steepled his fingers together and dropped his face into their cradle for a long moment, then looked back up at her. His eyes were so dark they looked black rather than blue.

"I will be more honest with you than Duncan was with me," he said at last softly. "There are lots of things they don't tell potential Wardens about when they sign them on. Not until later, when it's too late. Aside from the darkspawn sensing business and the nightmares, it's hard for a Joined Warden to have children. Not impossible, particularly if the other parent isn't a Warden, but a lot more difficult."

"Then both you and Alistair…"

"You'd be looking at the same problem, regardless of which of us you married, yes."

"Why in the Maker's name would Duncan do something that would harm the fertility of one of Maric's only two sons? Particularly when the other one had not produced an heir yet?"

"I don't _know_! It's all of a piece with all the bad decisions that were made about Alistair. Though he doesn't regret it-he's happy being a Warden." He looked down at his book for a moment, then back up at her. "There is one other thing you should know. The Joining ceremony that gives us these abilities-it shortens our lives. Thirty years, more or less, from the Joining before the darkspawn voices in your head get to be too much and you can't shut them out any more. Alistair says that most Wardens go down to the Deep Roads to go down fighting rather than stay around and go crazy. So Blight and civil war aside, I have next to no expectation of living past fifty. Which might make the prospect of marrying me more appealing to you rather than less. I don't know."

Anora stared at him. "That's a horrible thing to say!"

"I'm sorry," Cousland said. He actually did look contrite. "I tend to turn into a total brat when I talk about this stuff. Not that I should be talking about it, really. But hey, what is Riordan going to do? Nothing to harm one of Ferelden's only three Wardens, that's for sure." He gave her a somewhat sickly smile. "Would you mind very much if we changed the subject?"

"Very well then-what are you reading there?"

"_In the Pursuit of Knowledge-Travels of a Chantry Scholar, _by Brother Genitivi," Cousland said.

"I've read that one, it's very good. You'll enjoy it."

"I thought that I might," the Warden said, lifting a page. "For all that I feel like I've walked across every square foot of Ferelden in the last few months, I've never actually had the opportunity to visit other countries. Besides, I've met Genitivi and I was curious about what sort of book he would write. From what little I've read so far, the man has a way with words. And he certainly gets around."

"_You've _met Brother Genitivi?"

Cousland's good cheer returned and he grinned. "What? You don't think I'm the scholarly type? Well I'm not, really, but my tutor Aldous always said I had learned thoroughly the things that I had to learn. As for meeting Genitivi, it's easy enough to do-he lives just across the Marketplace. Didn't you know?"

"No, I had no idea. But that still doesn't answer the question of _why_ you met him."

"He was sort of a…consultant, I guess you'd call it, on one of my little endeavors a while back."

From what she knew of Cousland, that could have been absolutely anything.

"You know, if you'd like to talk to him, Your Majesty, it would be easy enough to send someone to fetch him here. Not Erlina, she is known. But Oghren or Leliana or Morrigan all know him and would be glad to ask him to come here. Or I would, for that matter. He wouldn't tell anyone about you. I know that it must be boring for you, cooped up here like this."

"There are only a couple of days before the Landsmeet, Warden. I suspect I'll manage to survive," Anora said coolly. "Though I thank you for the thought." She stifled a yawn with her hand. "It would appear that your company has done me some good."

"Bored you into somnolence, did I? Sorry about that."

"Warden, you are many things, but boring is not one of them! But I think I will try to go back to bed."

Cousland immediately got to his feet. "I will walk you to your room." He picked up his lamp and book, leaving the others on the table for the librarian to reshelf, as the man preferred. Shoving them all into one hand, he pulled her chair out like a proper, civilized lord and waited as she gathered up her own lamp.

"You're not going to take a book after all?"

She shook her head. "I think I can sleep now. I'll pick a few new ones out tomorrow."

They set their lamps back on the table and started up the stairs. Anora looked up at the tall figure pacing beside her and decided she was glad that he was night to Cailan's morning, because it made the odd sense of familiarity a little easier to take.

"You didn't have to tell me that just now. You shouldn't have, if you wanted me to marry you."

Cousland's mouth thinned. "I know. I can be calculating when I put my mind to it, but I didn't want to be about this. I want you to make an informed decision. It is more than I was given."

"You tell me you will oppose my solitary rule and that you will not be my prince-consort but king only, but you want me to make an _informed decision_?"

"Exactly."

"You are a very strange young man, Warden."

"You're not the first to tell me that, Your Majesty."

They had arrived at her door. She turned to face him and noticed, for the first time, the glimmer of something silver on his chest beneath the shirt. "What is that?" Anora asked, indicating it with a finger.

Cousland hooked his own finger under it and pulled it out. It appeared to be a Chantry amulet, but the symbol looked to be very archaic. "It's a reminder," he said cryptically, "that confronting one's self can be as frightening as fighting a dragon. Or more so."

"There's a rumor going around that you killed a dragon."

"The rumor's wrong. _I_ didn't kill a dragon." Anora felt oddly disappointed, until he continued. "No one kills a high dragon by themselves. Morrigan, Oghren, Leliana and I killed a high dragon."

The Queen blinked, and took a moment to collect herself. "Then your armor really is…"

"Yes. From that dragon. Wade does good work, doesn't he?" Cousland sighed. "It was a shame to kill it, really. It was so beautiful, flying above the peaks. But the dragon cultists there had been feeding it and raising its babies. With them gone, the dragon would have had to start feeding itself. It would have begun preying on nearby villages and someone would have had to hunt it down. It stayed to fight us because we were on its territory. It would have been much harder to find later. It had to be done, but I still regret it."

"It's very good of you to share credit with your friends. Many warriors wouldn't."

The Warden rubbed his face. "Is it? I don't think there's anything extraordinary about that. I couldn't have done it without them, so why not say so? Father told me once that the very definition of a good lord was that he was the fellow who took the blame and shared the credit. I've not forgotten that."

"I thought perhaps that Morrigan had given the amulet to you," Anora admitted. "When you were in Fort Drakon, she said you had a ring she could use to find you."

"The amulet is a Chantry amulet. It's not Morrigan's style," the Warden said with a wry smile. "As for the ring, it was never, according to Morrigan, a love gift at all. She gave it to me before we…came together, saying that as I was the leader of the group, it would be helpful in finding me in the event of my capture. I offered to give it back to her when she broke with me, but she said that as our business was still in progress and I still very much in danger, that the need for it had not gone away and that I should keep it. Does it bother you that I still have it?"

"No, not particularly. She seems rather ruthlessly practical, Morrigan does."

"That's a good way of describing her. She is very straightforward when all is said and done. She will always tell you exactly what she is and is not willing to do." Cousland seemed a little glum talking about his former lover. Anora could have excused herself then, but she felt oddly comfortable talking to him in the darkened hall, and didn't want to end their conversation on a down note, so she asked another question.

"I must ask, for I never heard-how did you get out of Fort Drakon?"

"Oh, that." The Warden shrugged. "That was a set of lucky circumstances when all was said and done. The jailor got too close to our cell and I was able to grab him and kill him through the bars, then get the key off of him. When we got out, Alistair and I found all our armor and weapons in a chest by the door. I guess they'd left the stuff down there so that it would be convenient for your father to look through it when he got around to questioning us, but it was damned convenient for us as well. I wouldn't have wanted to lose Starfang."

"Starfang?"

"My sword."

"The one that was made for you?"

"That's the one. She's made of star metal, which you don't exactly find everywhere. In any event, we got dressed and killed the jailors and guard mabari in the dungeon, then cleaned up a bit and went up to the main floor. The armory was there, so we nabbed some guard uniforms. I figured the best thing to do was to hide in plain sight and besides, I didn't want to kill anybody else because we were going to need these fellows later to fight the darkspawn."

"How very restrained of you."

Cousland's grin flashed whitely in the dim hall. Recounting the escapade was apparently restoring his spirits. "Wasn't it just? Anyway, poor Alistair almost had a heart attack when I strolled us into the colonel's office to report as new recruits. Turned out the colonel was in fact expecting new recruits. So we trotted off to pick up our proper regulation swords, found the other two _actual_ recruits who were going with us on patrol, then reported back to the colonel for final inspection. He grilled us a bit, inspected us, then sent us off with his blessing. Alistair and I walked right out the front door with the other two fellows, who conveniently knew the correct password, and with the good wishes of the other soldiers echoing behind us. We parted company with the other two when we were out in the street, on the pretext of covering more ground, and made it back here to Eamon's, easy as you please."

Anora shook her head. "Another miracle."

"No, just a bit of good luck, that."

"You and Alistair weren't…harmed in any way, were you?"

"You mean questioned or tortured?" She nodded, and he shook his head. "No. I think that if I'd not killed Howe beforehand things could have gotten pretty ugly. I gather that he liked to supervise a lot of that at Fort Drakon when he wasn't at home in his own little playroom. But things were in a bit of an uproar because we'd killed him and I guess that your father was intending to talk to us himself, only he was too busy sorting things out at Howe's place. We woke up in Drakon and proceeded to escape right away. Other than headaches and some bruises, Alistair and I were just fine. And since there were healing potions in our things, we didn't even suffer those for long after we woke up."

"It is quite the story. As good as any of Brother Genitivi's. Perhaps you ought to get him to write it down for you."

That thoughtfully pleased look came over him again. "It's an idea. Perhaps I'll talk to him about it one day." He bowed. "It is late, and I'm keeping you up. Good night, Your Majesty."

"Good night, Warden." She slipped into her bedroom, leaning back against the door once it had closed behind her.

"_I want you to make an informed decision. It is more than I was given." _When was the last time someone had been that honest with her, had told her something she needed to know, whether it was good for them or not? Anora couldn't recollect.

_What would Cousland have done, had I kissed him under the pretext of 'making an informed decision'? _The resulting fantasy was strangely warming, enough so that she was able to go back to bed and fall to sleep without missing Cailan's warm bulk at her back.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to Reviewer, none, tayloriusrex, almostinsane, apm, JadeOokami, anony and mutive for your kind words about the last chapter. This one's a bit fluffy, I fear.

* * *

><p>Corin woke late the next morning, roused by someone opening the curtains so that the sun would shine on his face. His eyes closed, Warden senses told him a fellow Warden was near. The scent of toasted cheese on bread narrowed the two possibilities down to Alistair.<p>

"Wakey, wakey! Your new clothes are waiting, brother. Don't you want to see what Shimmer Boy has wrought?"

"Shimmery or not, you'd better not be covering them with cheese crumbs, Alistair."

"I'm not anywhere near them, I'll have you know. And I have a perfectly good napkin here-_damn it, _Pooka!That was _mine!_" There was a sound of mabari claws scrabbling on stone, as Pooka dashed into the hall with his prize.

Corin resigned himself to rejoining the world, opened his eyes and swung his legs out of bed. "What have I told you about waving food around in front of him? He thinks you're giving it to him."

"He thinks so such thing! He's just an ill-bred, opportunistic mongrel!"

"I hate to tell you, but as far as generations of pure blood is concerned, Pooka's got us both beat."

"Easy enough to do when you've got a new generation every couple of _years_!" Alistair grumbled as he stalked off; in search, Corin suspected, of more toasted cheese.

Donning yesterday's breeches, the young Warden made his way out to the garderobe down the hall. When he came back, one of the arl's maids was setting out a ewer of hot water on his washstand, fresh towels and a tray of shaving supplies. Reflecting upon the times in recent months he'd scraped his beard off with nothing but cold water and a knife while leaning over a dented metal mirror set on a stone by a creek, Corin rather thought he could get used to this level of luxury again. Several days of it had been most pleasant.

"Does my lord require anything else?" the maid, who was an elf, inquired as she had every morning thus far. "Would my lord like me to shave him?"

"Good morning to you, Nigella."

"And to you, my lord!" she replied, obviously pleased that someone had bothered to trouble themselves to remember something so beneath notice as her actual name.

"No, I'll shave myself, though I thank you." He tended to twitch at the thought of someone of undetermined trustworthiness waving a razor around his bare throat. "But I do need a couple of things, if you have the time. My boots could use a polish, if someone here is good with such things."

"There are new boots with the suit, my lord, in case you didn't know."

"Really? Well, we'll give those a go first. Mine are probably almost beyond help anyway." A polite silence from the maid did not dispute this point. "The other thing is-can you cut hair? Trim it, really. Mine's a bit ragged."

"If you're not wanting anything too fancy, my lord, then I can."

"Nothing fancy, just evened up."

"I can do that, my lord. I'll just fetch the scissors and be back in a wink."

"Thank you, Nigella." She dipped a curtsey and departed.

Corin gave himself a quick cat-bath and a shave. Just as he had finished, Nigella came back. Trimming his hair took very little time, it just needing a bit of neatening. Wynne tended to keep him properly cropped. Just another service she offered along with all the unwanted advice… Nigella whisked the towel with the cut bits off of his shoulders and gave him a quick brush-off.

"Do you need help dressing, my lord?"

"I might. I don't know how complicated this suit is. Do you mind staying a bit longer?"

"Not at all, my lord."

He turned finally to the carefully wrapped package that waited on a side table and cut the strings with his dagger. Folding the cloth back, the suit was revealed. Corin sucked in a breath.

Not shimmery at all, but brocade, velvet and suede in shades of blue between royal and dark, trimmed tastefully in silver. Highever colors, or Grey Warden colors, depending on how you wanted to look at it. There was a shirt with it, very white and fine, with black and blue embroidery on the cuffs and collar. The boots, a dark blue leather that was almost black, stood nearby on the floor.

Nigella helped him to dress. After months of wearing common garments bought from whatever merchants they came across or scavenged from the dead, Corin had almost forgotten the way of tailored noble clothes and the finicky fastenings that made a maid or manservant a decided convenience. The breeches were snug, though they did not bind. _I guess he actually got some practical use out of all that crotch measuring after all, _Corin thought almost charitably of the tailor. The shirt and doublet fit perfectly. The boots were of a more foreign fashion, coming up over the knee, but they too fit well. He recollected the tailor taking a tracing of his feet during the measuring process and that was now explained.

But he was jolted when he looked in the mirror and saw the young lord looking back, jolted and reminded of the last time he'd dressed this well, for dinner to honor Arl Howe and the Warden the night…

"That will be all, Nigella. Thank you."

"Very well, my lord."

Corin heard her depart and close the door behind her, but he paid no notice, gazing instead into the mirror as if trying to find some trace of the carefree young lord he once had been.

* * *

><p>Alistair did in fact manage to charm the cook out of another piece of toasted cheese. On his return from the kitchens, he found the thief of his last piece standing beside the hall door, whining.<p>

"Oh, all right," he grumbled and escorted the mabari outside. "Not that you deserve _any _consideration, you wretched cheese thief!" Pooka grinned up at him, his tail wagging. Then he deliberately licked his chops in what could only be construed as a mockery. Out in the courtyard Alistair found Leliana performing a similar service for Schmooples. The mabari touched noses briefly with the nug, then set about taking care of business.

_Leliana looks very pretty this morning, _Alistair thought, eyeing the bard covertly. A little tousled and sleepy to be sure, as if she'd just got out of bed, but it was a good look on her…He'd found himself watching and thinking about Leliana a lot lately. About how nicely her armor fit her, how trim and well-shaped her legs were, how he found her voice so pleasant. _"Alistair, she's an archdemon short of a blight!" _Corin had protested when they'd first met her, but even he had come to rely upon the bard over time and admit that she was a valuable member of their group.

Corin was worried about the Landsmeet and Corin didn't worry without due cause. Between Ferelden's infernal, eternal politics and the Blight, there was a good chance that Alistair would not live out the month. And he was beginning to think that dying a virgin was a really deplorable way to go. Leliana supposedly knew all about lovemaking, and he thought she might not mind showing him the ropes, as it were. But how to go about broaching the subject? To a _bard_, who was so very good with words herself? He wasn't suave and self-assured like Corin. Corin could handle women, even difficult, bitchy, evil women like Morrigan. He was upstairs right now, trying on clothes that _the Queen,_ Lady Ice Maiden herself, had bought him! Alistair was sure that, if he were to screw up his courage enough to ask (an unfortunate turn of phrase, though undeniably accurate), he'd say something absolutely goofy and offensive and that Leliana would end up hating him forever.

"Good morning, Alistair," the bard said, strolling over to him. She'd thrown an open doublet on over a shirt, but from the way things were moving as she walked, it looked as if she'd not bothered with a breast band. _Oh, Maker! _"Would you help me with something?"

"Of course, Leli."

"I slept wrong last night and I got up with the most terrible crick in my neck. Would you be kind enough to give it a rub? You've got strong hands, I'm certain you can work it right out."

"Of course."

She promptly turned her back to him and stood waiting. At least it was not as distracting a view as the front! He put his hands under her hair and began rubbing with his thumbs on her neck at the base of the skull. She moaned in pleasure in a tone that rocketed straight to his groin. Alistair was dismayed and embarrassed. He knew the rules. Within their group all of them gave neck-rubs without much of a second thought, even Zevran. Corin had made it understood that neck-rubs were sacrosanct, were not an invitation, were just because you had a neck that needed un-kinking, a common enough condition in people who habitually strapped heavy pieces of metal onto their heads and then got those heads beaten on with swords.

Now he was all too conscious of the ends of her soft, perfumed hair brushing over his hands and the soft warmth of the back of her neck, which made him wonder about how soft and warm she would be in other places…His hands were feeling a decided urge to take a detour under the doublet and shirt and then back up…He took half a step back, to where he could still reach her neck without allowing her to discover his condition.

"Alistair?" Leliana said, her voice very relaxed and contented.

"Yes, Leli?"

"You've been staring at me for a month now. I was just wondering-is it because you want to sleep with me?"

Alistair gasped, released her and took another step back. Leliana turned around and smiled at him, a warm, muzzy smile that was totally non-threatening.

"I'll apologize for presuming, if that is not the case, but I'm rather hoping it is. Because I'd really like to sleep with _you_."

"You _would_?"

"Yes, I would. And the sooner, the better. Zevran was going to go to The Pearl tonight for some entertainment. You know that Corin doesn't want any of us wandering off alone right now, so I thought perhaps that you and I could go as well and get a room there for the night. That way we won't be putting Corin or Morrigan out of their rooms, and nobody will be alone. And then we could have a lovely time together."

"Leliana, I don't know anything about…I mean, I wouldn't want you to be disappointed."

"Your lack of experience doesn't bother me, Alistair. I would be honored to be your first. It only takes one person who knows what they are doing. And I certainly qualify on that account." She moved forward, placed her hands upon his shoulders (they felt hot as brands to him), went up on tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss on his mouth.

"Say yes."

"Yes!" he managed to choke out.

"There. Wasn't that easy? We'll walk over tonight after dinner. I look forward to it." She gave him another kiss, released him and strolled off into the house, hips swaying, her nug galumphing along beside her.

Dazed, delighted and confounded, Alistair stared after her, until Pooka barked sharply, making him jump. The damned dog was definitely grinning.

* * *

><p>In a day that looked to be full of surprises, another one awaited Alistair when he went back upstairs to return the rascal hound. He'd left his Warden brother in the room. What was waiting for him when he came back was Lord Cousland.<p>

Corin was standing by the window, staring unseeingly out. He looked, well, _princely_. Perfectly at ease in those gorgeous clothes. While Alistair would have felt like he was playing dress-up, Corin obviously didn't give such luxury a second thought. It was his by right and it showed. The gulf between how they'd both been raised, the very reason Alistair had insisted that Corin was the man to become king rather than himself, had never been more clear.

Pooka went straight to his master's side, thrusting his head beneath Corin's hand with a worried whine. His master's fingers started scratching his ears absently.

"Wow. Not shimmery after all, but wow nonetheless. Lord Cousland, I presume?" Alistair said, his voice carefully casual.

Corin turned his head. His eyes were very dark. "Do you know, the last time I was this dressed up was _that _night? Mother insisted that I do proper honor to the Warden and our _old family friend."_ Alistair winced. Corin turned back to the window.

"The feel of my blade punching through that bastard's belly was the finest moment of my life, Alistair. I can still shut my eyes and call it right to mind. But you should know. It feels really good when you do it. I won't deny that. But ultimately it doesn't change anything. It doesn't bring them back."

"I know. But I still want it."

"Understood." There was a cool distance to his voice that was heartbreaking.

Alistair was not a touchy-feely sort of person. Eamon had hugged him as a child, but Eamon's subsequent rejection of him had made him suspicious of such overtures even as he longed for them. And there had been no place for physical gestures of affection in the Chantry. It was, perhaps, one of the reasons he was still a virgin-physical contact without real affection felt like a betrayal to him. _It's probably also the reason I get so snarky when other people indulge in it._

So it was hard for him to walk across that room and hug Corin. But he did it anyway and knew that it was the right thing to do when Corin's head dropped onto his shoulder and he sighed and hugged Alistair back.

"You're my rock. You do know that, don't you?" he murmured beside Alistair's ear.

"I am? Really? And here I thought I was your large, slightly sweaty block of cheese."

A chuckle. "That too, of course." A hard squeeze and Corin stepped back. The dark mood was gone, there was a smile on his face and he looked much more himself again.

"I am going down to breakfast, to dazzle the populace," he declared grandly. "You may accompany me, if you like."

* * *

><p>Leliana was a bard to her bones and knew that proper preparation was essential for any seduction or covert action. So she seated herself beside Zevran at the breakfast table and proceeded to be proactive.<p>

"Zevran Arainai. A word with you."

He laid his hand over his heart and inclined his head. "Any time, my dove."

"I am going with you to The Pearl tonight as I said. Alistair is coming with me. As in coming with me to _be_ with me." Zevran's eyebrow flew up. He opened his mouth to speak, but Leliana cut him off with an abrupt, very Orlesian gesture. "Let us understand each other, Zevran. This is something that I have wanted and have been hoping for for a long time. You will do nothing to spoil this. _Nothing! _You will not tease Alistair, you will not taunt him, you will not make advances or bawdy jokes. You will not suggest a threesome or any other acts including other people or animals. You will do everything in your power as a friend to be properly supportive and pleased for him. For _us_. Am I clear?"

Golden eyes narrowed. "You are clear as to your directives, my sweet. You have not yet stated what the consequences will be should I choose not to comply."

Blue eyes narrowed right back. "There is this song in my head, struggling to be born. _The Lecherous Antivan Crow With The Tiny, Diseased Pizzle_. That's just the working title of course, but I think you see where I'm going with this. That song really wants to be written, Zevran. Verses and verses of it. I'm sure it would be a hit throughout Ferelden, the Free Marches, Antiva, Orlais-oh, lots of places. Of course, if Alistair and I have an absolutely wonderful time tonight, I will probably be too…distracted…to write it. And if you don't write songs down right away when they come to you, then they sometimes die."

Zevran laughed and saluted her with his tea cup. "Very well, my lovely songbird, it will be as you say. It might even be in _my_ best interest after all! I know you to be a most excellent teacher in such matters. Perhaps in time you might get our young Templar to loosen up a bit! The thought of that threesome is rather…compelling, to tell the truth."

* * *

><p>So late in the morning, there wasn't a lot of populace to dazzle. Sten and Morrigan had already come and gone. Sten was probably out in the garden doing his meditations and Maker knew what Morrigan was up to. Oghren wouldn't be up for another hour yet. Teagan wasn't there but Eamon was, sitting with the Queen and talking to her while she nibbled a pastry and sipped some tea.<p>

Wynne was present as well, though she was eating a proper breakfast. She looked like she might be a little hungover. And Leliana and Zevran were there, seated by each other and talking animatedly, their heads together. They looked up when Corin entered the room and Leliana squealed, leaping to her feet.

"Oh, Corin! You look _wonderful_! Let me _seeeeee_! She hurried over to examine him from all angles, even going so far as to run a hand over his ass.

Corin swatted the hand away. _"Leliana!"_

She giggled. "Nice cut on those breeches. The tailor _had _to be Orlesian."

"As a matter of fact, he was."

"I knew it!"

Zevran made as if to rise from his chair. "They certainly look worthy of …closer examination," he purred.

Corin stabbed a finger at him "You! Sit!" The last thing he needed was _Zevran_ fondling his posterior in front of Eamon and the Queen! The assassin sank back into his seat, a wicked smile on his face.

Snickering, Alistair was already on his way to the sideboard where the breakfast food was laid out, despite his earlier cheese consumption. Grey Warden appetites were legendary, but Alistair's was legendary even for the Wardens. _I need to make sure to get him out to spar every day or he's not going to fit into his armor. _Wynne, Corin realized with dismay, was staring at certain portions of his anatomy with an expression of pleased surprise. _Great. Now Wynne is ogling me! _The Queen was surveying him with what looked oddly like confusion, her pastry held forgotten, halfway to her lips. As for Eamon…the arl was looking at Corin as if he'd suddenly realized that something dangerous was creeping up behind him.

"Good morning, Warden," the arl said, with the gentlest of emphasis on the last word. Anora seemed to come back to herself.

"Good morning, Lord Cousland," she said with an equally gentle emphasis on Corin's title.

"Good morning, Your Majesty, my lord arl."

Eamon looked slightly surprised at the Queen's choice of address, but chose not to comment. He did, however, look over at the sideboard to where Alistair was shoveling eggs onto his plate. He was in a nondescript brown tunic and this particular tunic had one of Wynne's neat patches on one elbow. The arl's brow furrowed.

"Alistair, it occurs to me that we've been remiss in the matter of your own wardrobe," Eamon said. "I shall call a tailor in for you."

"You needn't go to any trouble on my account, sir," Alistair said affably. "I have plenty of clothes."

"But nothing appropriate for court, unless you're hiding something I've not seen yet."

Alistair shrugged. "I don't think it's an issue, sir. I'll wear my Grey Warden armor to court. That's what's most appropriate after all. I promise I'll give it an _extra_ good polish before I go." Corin could see the twinkle in his eye that showed Alistair knew exactly what he was doing.

Eamon sighed, obviously gathering his patience. "I trust you won't mind if I do this small thing for you. It's truly no trouble."

"Only if it's no great bother or expense for you, sir. I'd hate to be an inconvenience of any sort. Seeing as I seem to have a talent for it."

Wincing internally, Corin went to get his own breakfast.

* * *

><p>Anora had felt an odd sensation when Cousland entered the room, a swift flush of warmth that pervaded her entire body at first, then seemed to center itself in the regions below her waist. <em>He cleans up well. I had thought that he would. The tailor came highly recommended and rightly so. The color suits and those breeches certainly…fit, don't they?<em>

It took her a couple of moments to realize what was going on. When she did, she was rather bemused. _So. This is lust. I had wondered what all the fuss was about. It would seem that I prefer __**dark**__-haired men. Not so surprising, I suppose. _She had never felt this profound physical attraction for Cailan, though she'd certainly appreciated him on an aesthetic level and had liked that they looked well together during their public appearances. Perhaps it was because she had known from an early age that Cailan would be hers eventually. Perhaps familiarity did breed contempt, or at least complaisance.

_I cannot ever be complaisant around Cousland. Too dangerous._ She found the idea pleasing for some reason. Hearing Eamon try to subtly set the Warden down, she raised her voice to lend him some equally subtle support. _And so the end-game begins._


	6. Chapter 6

Many thanks to none, Anony, mille libri, mutive, JadeOokami, apm and almostinsane for sticking with me so far! Warning given-this is a wordy chapter, but hopefully the end will make it worthwhile.

* * *

><p>"Could I have a moment of your time after breakfast, Warden?" Arl Eamon asked Cousland across the table. It was hardly an unexpected request and the young Warden readily agreed. When the meal was over, the two met upstairs in the Arl's study. Eamon gestured to a chair and closed the door behind them.<p>

"I never got the chance to ask you how your interview with the Queen went the other day."

"As you might have expected, sir," Cousland said, settling into the chair. "She made a very fluent argument about the advantages that would accrue to me should I support her bid for the throne."

"How did you answer her, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

"I told her that I would not support her bid for the throne as a solitary ruler."

"You put forward the idea of a marriage between her and Alistair? That could solve a great many problems," Eamon said thoughtfully as he moved to sit behind his desk, "always providing we could overcome Alistair's reticence. Which seems to be very strong these last couple of days."

"No, my lord, I did not suggest that she marry Alistair. I don't think Alistair would like being married to Anora. I'm not sure Anora would like being married to Alistair-she's been down that road before, and you must admit, it is a bit scandalous for the Queen to be marrying the late King's half-brother. I told her that the two options were Alistair on the throne by himself, or she and I married and ruling as King and Queen."

Eamon froze in his chair. "You put _yourself_ forward as King? _Alistair_ is the last Theirin."

"Alistair is the last _bastard_ _Theirin_. I am the last _legitimate Cousland_." Cousland put both hands palm up and waggled them in a balancing gesture. "I suspect that as far as the Landsmeet is concerned, we're pretty much even up and I might even be the better candidate. Remember, my lord-the Couslands were offered the Crown once before and in very recent memory. It is hardly such an improbable solution as your tone seems to suggest." Cousland's own voice was suddenly very chilly. Eamon paused for a moment to remember the extent of what he owed this young man personally and took a deep breath.

"I would hear your reasoning on the matter, _Lord _Cousland."

Cousland inclined his head regally. "Thank you, my lord arl. Though I will warn you, you will not like most of what I have to say."

Eamon lifted a hand. "You should say it nonetheless."

"Very well then. Let's get the thing you will not like to hear out of the way first. And that is that between Maric and Cailan and yourself, the three of you have done everything possible it seems, to insure that Alistair would not want or be suited for the throne. Maric should have had more concern for the welfare of the son he'd sired than for the Queen's reputation. I don't even think it was so much about her reputation as his own. He liked being the legendary savior king and I suspect he didn't want to sully that."

"This is my _sister's_ reputation you are talking about, you know," Eamon said gently. The young Warden nodded.

"I know that, sir. But I do not apologize and I still hold to what I've said. Maric should have been a man, taken his lumps and owned up to his mistake. He should have acknowledged Alistair publicly as soon as he was born."

The arl sighed. "That would have made the situation we have now much easier to deal with, I will admit. There will be those who will say that I've conveniently found a random young man with Theirin looks to put forward as my puppet candidate."

"Oh, that they will. You can count on Loghain doing it. Do you have _anything_ to use to prove Alistair's parentage?"

"I do. I have a letter in the king's own hand and bearing his seal, acknowledging Alistair's parentage and that I was his legal guardian. I also have a few letters, from him and Cailan both, referring to Alistair as son and half-brother."

"Thank the Maker for those, then!" Cousland exclaimed. "They'll certainly help, if it comes down to it." He slapped the arms of his chair. "So-back to the unpleasantness. Alistair should have been acknowledged from the beginning. He should have been given a title, a bannorn cobbled together from some lands somewhere. He should have been trained from the start in the martial arts and governance. And a marriage should have been arranged early on, to a young woman of lesser nobility and spotless reputation. I can think of four or five of those offhand and I know you can too." The arl nodded. "Then, when Cailan died, Alistair might have been ready to step in, confident in his abilities and perhaps even with an heir or two on the ground. And the Landsmeet would have been willing to confirm him despite his illegitimacy because he'd grown up among them and they knew that he was the best choice." Cousland pushed himself up out of his chair and began to pace.

"Instead, he is fostered with you and it is made very clear to him that he is at Redcliffe on sufferance-"

"I do happen to care about Alistair above and beyond what you might feel are my own ambitions, Lord Cousland." Eamon said quietly. The young Warden turned to face him, eyes narrowed.

"Perhaps you do. I know that he certainly cares about you. But as a general rule, people don't make children they love, children of _royal blood_, live in a _stable_! And they don't foist them off on the Chantry when their new wife decides that she doesn't want them there! Why, in Andraste's name, if keeping Alistair was such a problem for you, did you not send him to _Highever_ to be fostered instead?" he asked, exasperated. "We would have kept his secret, not that it really needed keeping. We would have taken care of him!"

"Maric wanted the secret kept in the family. He was afraid that some of the Bannorn would use Alistair as a tool to foment rebellion against Cailan."

"He certainly had no cause to doubt my _father's_ loyalty! Was the fear Maric's or _yours_? After all, Cailan was your blood, but Alistair is not." Eamon did not answer. Cousland resumed pacing.

"So instead of being raised up to help his brother in some capacity, raised up with the understanding that he would be commanding men one day, Alistair has it bludgeoned into his head by you that he should never aspire to rule or lead, ever. And the Chantry only reinforces this, with their insistence upon absolute obedience. Cailan could have pulled him out of that, had he just gotten Alistair out of the Chantry and acknowledged him after his crowning."

"I don't know that Anora or her father would have been much pleased by that."

Cousland snorted. "And of course it was more important to keep Anora and Loghain happy than do what was right for Alistair. Which is the overwhelming theme in all of this, that Alistair does not matter compared to other people's convenience. Because after all-he's only a bastard." Eamon stared down at his desk top. The young Warden continued to stalk about the room.

"Alistair was young enough and malleable enough even then that a lot of the damage could have been erased. But Cailan didn't get him out. You and the King sat on your hands while Alistair trained as a Templar, something he did not want to be, while he was nearly allowed to take final vows and become addicted to lyrium! Fortunately or unfortunately for Alistair, Fate intervened in the form of Duncan, the first person in his life who actually asked Alistair what _he_ wanted. And Duncan got him out of the Templars and into the Wardens, at something of a personal risk to himself. Even though having the King's half-brother in the Wardens was politically advantageous to Duncan, it was the first time in Alistair's life someone had gone to any trouble whatsoever for him. So it's no wonder Alistair worships the man, though Duncan risked and shortened his life and harmed his fertility."

The arl's head shot up. "What are you talking about?"

"Not everyone survives the Joining and the ones that do only live for about thirty years after they're Joined. And it's very hard for them to have children. And no, the Wardens _don't_ tell you about that beforehand."

Horror blossomed on Eamon's countenance. "Maker, what have I done?"

"Done your fair full share to bring about the end of the Theirin dynasty, as far as I can see," Cousland replied remorselessly. "Under the circumstances it's a bit pointless, don't you think, to be arguing over which probably sterile man is going to marry the probably infertile queen? Because odds are good if Ferelden survives the Blight and Anora can't give the kingdom an heir, it's just going to be civil war again a few years down the road." He came back to his chair, seated himself once more and took a deep breath.

"I am the second person in Alistair's life who ever bothered to ask him what he wants. And what he wants is not to be King. Could he do it? I think he very much could, were he to ascend to the throne in a time of peace rather than crisis. And he could even probably do it now, with you or I or both of us to help him. But he doesn't want to. He knows very well the sorts of decisions that are going to be called for after we defeat the Blight and he doesn't want to have to make them. He deferred to me from the very beginning, despite the fact that he was my senior in the Wardens and has done so ever since. I'll guarantee you that will keep happening if we both survive and you put him on the throne."

Eamon gave the young Warden a stern look. "And is that not enough for you, Cousland? To be the king's most trusted advisor?"

"It is not about what is enough for me, my lord arl. It's about the injustice of asking someone you've done your best to make incapable of doing a job do the job after all, just because the circumstances have changed. It's about Alistair having to turn into someone else entirely to do the job. I rather like Alistair the way he is."

"Yes, I would imagine you do! He's certainly no challenge to you as he is," Eamon said tartly. "You are familiar with the old saying about the person who does not want the power being the only one who should be trusted with it?"

"Oh, were you thinking that I _want _this?" Cousland's mouth twisted into a decidedly ugly smile. "I don't want the crown. I _want_ my home back. I _want_ my family alive instead of dead. I _want_ to just be Fergus's little brother again." Eamon flinched at the raw pain in his voice. "Barring that, I'd settle for being dead on the floor of Highever's kitchen with my mother and father, instead of alive with darkspawn taint coursing through my veins. But I am still alive and my dying father made me swear two things; to avenge our family against Howe and to save Ferelden, and my mother bought me time to escape with her life so that I could do them. I managed the first and I'm working on the second. This seems the most efficient way to make that happen. That's all."

The Arl of Redcliffe looked at the grim young man before him, stared into those storm-blue eyes, reflected upon his foster son's intrinsically light-hearted nature and thought he understood. _You would spare Alistair the fire if you can, because you know all too well how much it hurts. But fire doesn't always consume, sometimes it hardens and tempers. After all, it forged __**you**__ into what you are today, which is, admittedly, something extraordinary. I owe you so much-my own life, Isolde's, Connor's. I don't think I want to fight you on this._

Aloud, he said, "I do not know that I can bring myself to support you in this, my lord Cousland. But I will not directly oppose you either. You have made some very valid arguments. We will just have to see how the Landsmeet plays out. Has the Queen given you an answer yet?"

"Besides this?" Cousland gestured at his clothes. "No, sir, and I think this is because my deplorable fashion sense offended her eyes rather than an indication of any sort of official approval." Suddenly the grimness was gone, the wry humor back.

Eamon shook his head, smiling a little at the absurdity. "Then there's not much point in further planning until we know where Anora stands."

"Indeed not." Cousland got to his feet and bowed. "If you will excuse me, my lord. Now that I'm properly dressed for politicking, it would probably be best if I went to the Gnawed Noble, bought a few drinks for some people and bent a few ears."

* * *

><p>"More tea, Brother?" Anora inquired.<p>

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Brother Genitivi replied. There were faint ink stains on the long-fingered hand holding the cup out. Faced with the prospect of yet another day spent reading, the Queen had acted upon Cousland's suggestion and had asked the bard to go and fetch the scholar to her to have lunch. Genitivi, a rather plain, balding man with eyes full of keen intelligence and the biggest nose Anora had ever seen on a human being, had come swiftly at her behest and proved to be full of entertaining stories, many of which had not made it into his published works.

They had passed a most enjoyable couple of hours when Anora finally got down to the question she'd most wanted to ask.

"I was wondering, Brother, how it was you came to know Warden Cousland?"

The scholar looked puzzled. "Who?"

"Warden Cousland? Corin?"

"Oh. Corin is a Cousland? He never told me that. A most valorous young man."

"He's Bryce Cousland's second son."

"Really? I've been to Highever a couple of times. Such a lovely city. It was so terrible, what happened to the family. I must give him my condolences." He gave Anora a cautious look. "I would suppose that you of all people would know the truth of the matter, Your Majesty, but I hope I do not offend when I say that I find the charges that were laid against Teyrn Cousland hard to believe."

"There was no truth in them at all, Brother," Anora said, "so of course you do not offend me. What happened at Highever is but one of many things that must be addressed soon. But back to my original question-Warden Cousland said that you helped him with one of his 'endeavors' as he put it, not so long ago."

"A modest young man as well as valorous. I did not help Warden Cousland. Or rather I was of some small assistance, but only after he saved my life."

"This sounds like another of your most interesting stories. Please tell me."

Genitivi smiled, suspecting he'd come at last to the real reason for his summons. "How could I refuse a royal command? Very well. The Warden saved me from my own folly. I had been pursuing a scholarly trail that I hoped would lead me to the Urn of Sacred Ashes. My research led to a village called Haven, in the Frostback Mountains." He paused to take a sip of his tea.

"I've found in my travels that people in isolated villages are often odd and suspicious of strangers, and that sometimes they have very…interesting…beliefs. It's as if faith left to flower in isolation takes strange forms. I'd gone to Haven anticipating this, yet what I found there exceeded any expectation of strangeness I might have had. There was in fact a temple up the mountain from the village, a very ancient temple built by Andraste's followers when they carried her home to Ferelden."

Anora's eyes widened. "Then the Ashes are really there?"

Genitivi nodded. "The Chantry has agreed to fund an expedition back there, if we can resolve the problem with the Blight."

_Andraste's final resting place has been found and is in Ferelden! _The enormity of that occupied the Queen fully for a moment before she could return to the conversation. "You said the villagers were strange?"

"That is a bit of an understatement. From what I was able to gather from discussions with their religious leader Father Eirik, they were descendents of the original pilgrims and had been tasked with protecting the Ashes. But over many generations, their beliefs had…warped and twisted. A high dragon had come to lair on the peaks near the temple. The villagers decided that the dragon was Andraste Reborn and began to worship her as a god. Any folk who strayed into the area were tortured and killed in sacrifice to this god, so as to preserve the secret." An expression of sorrow came over his mobile face.

"I am sad to say that I am responsible for some of those deaths, or at least my research was. Arlessa Isolde of Redcliffe had funded my research, being a very devout woman. When her husband the Arl fell ill, with a malady that no leech craft or magic could cure, she sent Redcliffe's knights out on quest to find the Ashes. And using my research, some of them found Haven after I did. They were one and all tortured and killed as heretics. Father Eirik made me watch."

Appalled, Anora quickly said, "I do beg your pardon, Brother! I had no idea! If you would rather not speak of this-"

Genitivi raised a hand and smiled reassuringly. "No, my lady, it is all right. I remember those men in my prayers every day and the story takes a better turn soon. Why Eirik did not kill _me_ I do not know for certain, but I think it was because I was Chantry and he wanted to try to convert me to what he saw as the true faith. Which was a very tiresome process that involved listening to him rant about his fallacious beliefs for hours on end." He smiled crookedly. "On the whole, I preferred the physical torture."

Taking another sip of tea, the brother continued. "The villagers had a chantry on the mountain, between the village and the temple proper. I'd been kept there so as to be convenient for Eirik's conversion attempts and was laying on the floor in the chantry library one day when the door scraped open and this tall young man came clanking in. I thought that Eirik must have tired of me at last and was going to end me, but the young man introduced himself as a Grey Warden named Corin. He and his friends treated my injuries. It turned out that they too were seeking the Ashes to cure Arl Eamon. They had found remains of the Redcliffe knights in the village and had come up to the chantry and killed Eirik and the other cultists there. I knew that Eirik carried a pendant which was a key to the temple and informed Corin of this. It turned out he'd already taken the pendant from Eirik. He helped me up the mountain to the temple, which I was very desirous of seeing, even after all I'd been through."

"The only way in which I actually aided Corin was to show him how to manipulate the pendant to open the temple door. My injuries would have slowed them down, and I found many carvings on the walls and columns by the temple entrance which were of great interest, so Corin and his companions left me there to study them and ventured further into the temple themselves."

"Did they actually find the Ashes?" Anora asked.

Genitivi nodded. "It took some time and some fierce fighting. They would come back from time to time to check on me and rest and share their food and water. They spoke to me of battles with mages and cultists, drakes and baby dragons. The cultists were raising the dragon's eggs themselves. But eventually the Warden and his friends found their way past all those obstacles and back out onto the mountain. At the top of the mountain is another temple and that is where the Ashes are. They went there and went through a series of mystical tests Corin called the Gauntlet. When they had completed the tests, Corin was allowed to come to the Ashes and take a pinch for himself. I saw the pouch the last time he returned." Genitivi folded his hands then, a look of reminiscent awe upon his face. "All the travels and time I spent doing that research, all of the pains, were worth that one moment."

"Did you not want to see Her yourself?"

Genitivi shook his head. "Oh, I wanted to and still do, but not at that moment. It almost felt as if She were saying that it was not yet my time. I hope that some day in the future I will feel the call and become a true pilgrim myself. For now, it is enough that I will hopefully be able to share this joy and enlightenment with others."

Anora smiled. It was her genuine smile, not the cool, reserved one she usually used and it was very seldom seen. "You are a very generous man, Brother. I feel sure that Andraste will call to you one day."

"From your mouth to Her ears, Your Majesty," Genitivi said.

"You should write this story down, Brother. Though you would need to know about the Gauntlet itself to make a full account."

"The Warden would never tell me anything more than that there were tests and that they were grueling. Understandable, I suppose-something like that is very private." The brother grinned suddenly. It was a decidedly puckish expression for a holy man. "Perhaps he will be more forthcoming for _you_, should you happen to ask him."

Anora raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps he will, Brother."

* * *

><p>Corin spent the afternoon as he had told Eamon he would, buying drinks and bending ears, with Alistair and Sten as bodyguards. In the late afternoon, he started back to the arl's estate with some good news that he hoped would improve Eamon's temper after their heated discussion of the morning. They could count on Alfstanna and Sighard for certain and Reginalda and Wulffe had been present to listen to both Corin and Sighard and seemed inclined to back them as well. Ceorlic was a lost cause, firmly in Loghain's camp and bleating his praises at every opportunity. All the hard work Corin and his companions had been doing in Denerim looked like it was coming to fruition at just the right time.<p>

"Corin," Alistair said hesitantly as they walked back. "Just so you know-Leliana and I are going to the Pearl tonight. Zevran's going too, though not with us. I mean, not to be with us…he's just going over at the same time…"

"Zevran's going so there are at least three for safety, as I prefer. I understand." Corin's voice was perfectly calm and even, but inside he was exulting. _YES! Thank you, Maker! Thank you, Leli! He's finally going to get laid!_

"So-are you going to go with Leliana so that you both can get partners, or are you going with Leliana to be with Leliana?" he said aloud in the same matter-of-fact tone. "Because if it's the former, I can make a couple of suggestions about who would be best." In the days before he'd taken up with Morrigan, Corin had patronized the Pearl a couple of times, to Alistair's great embarrassment.

"No, I'm going to be with Leli."

"I think that that is an _excellent _idea!" Corin said heartily. "The first time should always be with a friend, if you can arrange it. Leli will take good care of you." Alistair seemed bolstered by this.

"I think that she will too." He was silent as Sten for about half a block, then shyly said, "You never told me what _your _first time was like."

"Hmmmm, let's see. I think had just turned fourteen when Fergus found me in a pantry with my tongue down the throat and my hand up the blouse of one of the under-chambermaids, who was also fourteen and of a like mind to explore." Corin glanced sideways and as he had expected, the tips of Alistair's ears were reddening.

"What happened? Did you get punished?"

"No. But Fergus hauled me in front of Father that very minute and told him what he'd found. Whereupon Father sent Fergus away and shut the study door and explained to me the facts of life at Highever. Which were that we did not diddle the help, who were there to serve us in domestic matters, not carnal ones. He told me that he knew better than to tell me not to have sex, so he was going to make sure that it was under controlled circumstances. And later that night, after dinner, he took me to the best house in Highever."

"Your _father_ took you to a brothel? Wow."

"'Brothel' seems a bit inadequate, Alistair. It was the most exclusive house in the city after all, and a very refined place. Father introduced me to the madam, and he set up an account for me. He said that I could visit as often as I liked, but also made it very clear to me that I was to 'dip my wick', as he put it, nowhere else upon pain of his severe displeasure. Then he and the madam put their heads together and settled upon an Antivan lady named Serena as my first partner. He stayed downstairs drinking while Serena took me upstairs and introduced me to…all sorts of things. Then he walked me home." Corin smiled reminiscently.

"Serena was not the youngest lady there or the prettiest. I was disappointed in father's choice-until I found out why he'd made it. The things she could do…I returned to her often even after I'd had the younger, prettier girls."

"Did you go there a lot?"

"At first I did. Then the novelty wore off and the fever cooled a bit. The knowledge that I could go whenever I liked calmed me down a lot."

"What did your mother think about all of it? She wasn't bothered by your father taking you there, was she?"

"Mother approved. And no, she wasn't bothered because she trusted father. She knew he wasn't partaking himself. You'll forgive my saying so, I hope, but she and father did not want to have to deal with any bastards from our indiscretions. They would have insisted that Fergus and I care for any children resulting from our liaisons, and they would have helped us do that, but they were hoping to avoid the issue. It is possible that we might have fathered children later though, because the restriction on patronizing only that house lasted just until we were eighteen. I guess they figured that by then we'd have some sense about the matter, and we both did. The ladies taught us a lot about how to avoid such things. Fergus never sired a bastard and neither did I. I almost wish we had. Then I might have still had some family. They might have escaped Howe's notice." His face darkened and he fell silent.

"Corin?"

"Yes, Alistair?"

"Did you know that this is the first time you've ever _talked_ to me about your family? Told me a story about them, I mean."

"Can't be!" Corin protested.

"Yes, it is. And I'm glad you did. It's nice to know about them. I hope you'll tell me more."

Corin's flashing grin made an appearance. "Well! Then I guess it's a day for firsts all around!" He clapped Alistair on his armored shoulder and winced. "Ow! Forgot I don't have a gauntlet on! Let's go get you ready for your big night!"

* * *

><p>Those plans changed when they were met at the door by Erlina. "My lady, she wishes to speak to you," she said to Corin. "Right <em>now<em>!"

"What did you do to her?" Alistair muttered under his breath.

"Nothing, as far as I know!" came Corin's dismayed response. Then, to Erlina: "Tell Her Majesty that I will attend to her momentarily."

The maid bowed. "Very well, Lord Cousland. But be quick! She is most distraught!"

As he washed his face and hands back at the bedroom and ran a comb hastily through his hair, Corin racked his brain for something he might have said or done that morning to offend Anora. He could come up with nothing. She had certainly seemed in a good enough humor and had even made her support known in a small way. _What can possibly have happened?_

He made his way swiftly to the Queen's chambers. Erlina opened the door to him. Anora was standing by the couch, her arms crossed, fingers tapping. "Leave us, Erlina."

"But my lady, it eez not proper!"

"_Now, _Erlina." The maid did as she was bidden. When she had gone, Anora gave Corin a fulminating look.

"I am still the Queen of Ferelden, am I not, Lord Cousland?"

"That was never in question, Your Majesty," Corin replied, puzzled.

"Then did you never think you might have _told_ me that you've found the remains of the Maker's Chosen within my kingdom?"

"Oh. That." To Anora's annoyance, the young Warden immediately relaxed, having found his footing. "I am sorry, Your Majesty. I thought that you already knew. I know that you had me investigated. I simply assumed that it had come up."

"The accounts from Redcliffe are garbled. All sorts of confusing tales about walking undead and demons. The Arl's recovery was deemed miraculous, but the Circle's involvement was what was given me as an explanation. I know that the Arl's knights went in search of the Urn, and that several of them were lost as a consequence. But I had no idea that it was actually found!"

"You never spoke to the Arl about it?"

Anora's mouth thinned. "I don't necessarily chose to reveal to Eamon what I do and do not know, any more than he likes to do so with me."

"Of course. Well, I do apologize for the omission, Your Majesty. But honestly, would you have believed me if I had told you? It would have seemed like the worst sort of boasting. I'm assuming you talked to Genitivi this afternoon?"

"I did. He is, as you said, a most interesting man. We had a pleasant lunch together and he told me the tale, among others. But he said he didn't know everything." She sighed, letting her irritation go, seated herself on the sofa and indicated with a gesture that he should do so as well. "Please sit down, Warden."

Corin did so, leaning a little forward, elbows on thighs. "What is it that you would like to know?"

"What happened to you in the Gauntlet?"

The young Warden's face grew very still and he was quiet for a long moment. At last, he said softly, "There is a Guardian there. He appears to be a warrior in the prime of his life. He has been there, unchanging, since the Ashes were first brought and he says that he will be there until the Tevinter Imperium ends. He…knows things about you, secret things he shouldn't possibly be able to know. He asks a question of everyone who wants to try the Gauntlet. You can refuse to answer him-Morrigan did, and he let her pass anyway. They are _not_ comfortable questions." His hand reached up and touched the amulet she'd asked about earlier through his shirt. "I got this in the Gauntlet. From my father." Anora's eyes widened.

"Was he a spirit?"

"He seemed very real, but yes, I think he was a spirit. Though I touched his hand when he gave me the amulet…" Corin sighed and gave Anora a very direct look. "Your Majesty, I know that you've asked, but in truth, I would prefer not to answer. The tests-I have to think that the tests, like the questions, would be different for everyone who came. For instance, I came with three of my friends and we were tested together. A pilgrim who came alone would not be able to do a couple of the tests we encountered, because they required us to work together. The only thing I can tell you for certain is that the Gauntlet forces you to take a good hard look at yourself and that is not always a very pleasant thing."

"But was it worth it, to come to the Ashes? What was that like?"

Another long moment of silence. Then the soft voice again. "Peace. Pure peace. The only real peace I've known since Highever. I'd say that it was worth it." Corin's face was rapt as he remembered and he looked very young in that moment. Anora watched him and thought, _I am mad to even consider it…_

Aloud, she asked, "You did keep the pouch you had the Ashes in, didn't you?"

He came to himself with a start, and smiled. "Of course! Wouldn't you?" His hands went to his belt pouch and opened it. "I usually wear it around my neck, but it would have shown through the shirt today. There's only a bit of dust left, but I figure it's bound to be lucky." A small leather pouch on a long neck lace was pulled out and offered to Anora. "You can look if you like."

_How can you be so casual about this?_ she wondered. Her fingers felt cold as they touched his and took the pouch and they were tentative as she carefully pulled the lace loose and looked inside. There was the faintest silver-grey dusting left on the suede interior. She fancied her fingers were tingling a little and held her breath, not wanting to blow away any of the sacred substance. _Lady, grant us Your grace_, Anora prayed silently to herself. A moment's scrutiny was more than enough for her. She tightened the laces once more, and pressed it back into Corin's hands.

"Was this the one real miracle you spoke of? When the Ashes saved Arl Eamon?"

"Yes. We never did figure out exactly what the poison was the blood mage had used. But the finest physicians and the best the Circle had tried their best to rouse him, to no avail. When we sprinkled the ashes over him, there was this sparkle in the air, and Eamon simply woke up. He not only woke up, he was totally well. He'd been ill for weeks, but there was none of the weakness or wasting you would expect of a man bedridden for all that time. It was amazing."

_Which is saying something, coming from a dragon-slaying, army-raising, curse-breaking Warden, _Anora thought bemusedly. She realized suddenly that her fingers were still entwined in the Warden's, the pouch caught between them, and her cheeks heated.

"You should put this back on and fashion be damned. You will need the protection, with all the things you get up to." Disentangling the neck lace from the pouch, she raised the loop. Corin's black head bent submissively before her and she placed it about his neck, then tucked the pouch into the neck of his shirt. Unbidden, her hand came to rest upon the pouch, flat upon his chest, the tips extending beyond the leather to the warm, soft skin at the base of his throat. She could feel the beat of his pulse beneath her fingers, hear his breath catch, and that warmth she'd felt once before, when she'd first seen him properly dressed, came flooding back. Bowing her head, turning it slightly away, Anora felt his breath stir the tendrils of loose hair at her temple.

"What does Her Majesty wish?" Corin's voice was deeper of a sudden, a little rougher, sending shivers down her spine.

Anora's thoughts spun dizzily, disjointed. _What do I wish? I wish I were younger. I wish you were older. I wish you weren't so terribly improbable, conjuring miracles out of thin air, so wise beyond your years. I wish I wasn't so cold, because you are so very warm and I will only ultimately disappoint you as I did Cailan, and that will make me sad…I wish…_

"I wish to make an informed decision," Anora murmured, and turning her head and lifting it, she pressed her lips to his.


	7. Chapter 7

.heart, Gemini 1179, Mark Shepard, almostinsane, mille libri, mutive, 86kay, Shinkansen, none, JadeOokami, apm, anime/videogame freak, Maben00, spectre4hire-thank you all SO MUCH for all your kind words! I was astonished to see that my story had reached so many people. I hope that it will continue to please.

* * *

><p>The kiss had not been unexpected. Corin had thought that Anora might be working herself up to give that a try. What was surprising was its rather tentative quality. <em>This is a woman who has been married for five years, after all. <em>He immediately went into a more passive mode, participating enough to encourage her but letting her choose how far she wanted to go. What she seemed to indicate she wanted was a deep kiss with no tongue, so that was what he did.

It was a very pleasant experience. Anora smelled of roses and lavender rather than Morrigan's thyme and rain. Her skin and hair were soft and well-kept, as he discovered when he slid his hand slowly around to the back of her neck and stroked the nape gently. She seemed to like that very much, making a small sound in her throat and pressing more firmly against him. Her response elicited a similar enthusiasm in his own body, enough so that he realized he'd better back things off. _I should not like to be accused of molesting the Queen of Ferelden!_

So he broke the kiss, taking a deep breath. They were still very close, brows almost touching.

"So," he said softly, stroking his hand lightly over her cheek and ear, "do you feel sufficiently informed yet?"

Anora's color was high. She took a deep breath and sat up, patting a hand almost nervously over her hair. "Yes, I think that might be enough to go on with."

Corin's hand dropped into his lap. He lifted an eyebrow. "Would you like me to leave now?"

"Yes, please." He immediately rose to his feet and bowed. "Your Majesty."

"I will give you my answer in the morning, Lord Cousland."

"As Your Majesty wishes."

"Erlina, you may come out now," Anora called after the door had closed behind him. The maid came out of her chamber and hastened to her lady's side.

"My lady, are you all right?"

"I am, Erlina." The elf's brown eyes got a wicked twinkle to them.

"So-how waz he?"

"Very nice. A good kisser, actually."

"Trulee?" Her expression was skeptical. "Theze young men, they usually have more of the enthuziazm than the skill, yes?"

"He appears to have both in full measure."

"What will my lady do?"

"What I think is best for Ferelden. As usual. Could you fetch me some tea?"

"Of course, my lady."

When Erlina had gone, Anora went into the bedroom, The mirror showed her pink-cheeked, almost glowing as she'd not looked in some time, certainly not since Cailan's death. _Who would have thought? Apparently a little Cousland is good for me._

She had expected hard, gripping hands, overly wet lips, a thrusting tongue; an attempt to impress her with the fervor of his passion. But though there had been enthusiasm in his response, he had been careful, respectful, gentle. The hand that had caressed her cheek had been callused with the hardening almost constant swordplay brought, but it had been a surprisingly light hand. Certainly not what she would have expected from such a young man. Another tiny shiver ran through her at the mere memory. _Am I so starved for touch, then?_ _How can one kiss promise so much? Surely he could not be that different than Cailan. Surely it would be the same thing all over again._

The tantalizing possibility hovered stubbornly in the back of her mind, refusing to go away. _What if it wasn't the same? What if it were __**better**__?_

* * *

><p>Corin returned to his rooms to find his Warden brother in the next best thing to blind panic.<p>

"Alistair, whatever is the matter?"

The last Theirin was sitting on his bed in his breeches and shirtsleeves, running his fingers through his short-cropped hair until it was a disorderly mess.

"Corin, I can't do this! I thought I really wanted to, but it's _Leliana_! She knows all about this stuff. She's _killed_ people while making love!"

Corin grinned. "I don't think she intends to kill you, Alistair. I'm sure that's not what she intends at all."

"I know that, really. But I'm still worried. I don't think I can eat dinner-my stomach's all torn up."

"Oh dear. This _is_ serious!"

A pillow was seized from the bed and thrown at Corin's head. He caught it and tossed it back onto the bed.

"_How_ can I sit at the Arl's table and eat," Alistair groaned, "looking across at her, knowing what we're supposed to be going to do? What if Eamon figures it out?"

"What if he does?" Corin shrugged. "I'll guarantee he won't think the worse of you for it. In fact, given that he wants to re-establish the Theirin dynasty, I suspect he'd be cheering you on! He'd probably be worried to know you've gone this long without tupping _someone_."

Alistair gave him an affronted look. "I was raised to be a gentleman."

"A Chantry eunuch, don't you mean."

The pillow was hurled again, this time with serious intent. Corin caught and held it.

"Look, let's do the check list."

"Check list?"

"Yes, the Getting Ready to Get Laid Checklist. You've had a bath, right?"

"Right."

"Washed your hair?"

"Yes."

"Shaved?"

"Just finished."

"Brushed your teeth?"

"Yes."

"Have your protection?"

"My what?"

"Oh dear. I was afraid of this." Corin set the pillow back on the bed with a warning look at Alistair, then went over to his pack and began rummaging through it. Some moments later, he came up with a small silk pouch, which he brought over to his fellow Warden. Opening it, he pulled out an odd object, which looked to be some sort of very fine, almost transparent skin.

"What is that?" Alistair asked, then blushed furiously when Corin let it dangle and its shape could be seen.

"Not foolproof, but it really helps in the Let's Not Make Babies Unless We Want Them department. I'm pretty sure that Leli has some tea to drink to help from her end-I know Morrigan does. But you'll get points with her if you come prepared yourself. It's the thoughtful, _gentlemanly_ thing to do, particularly since we're at war and we don't really know exactly how infertile Grey Wardens are."

"How does-"

"Alistair, I love you like a brother. Really, I do. But I'm _not_ going to give you a demonstration! Leli will know just what to do with them." Corin laid the pouch beside Alistair on the bed. "Look, if you're this wrought up about it, why don't you ask Leli if she would like to go over to The Pearl early with you? The two of you could have dinner there and you wouldn't have to worry about the Arl staring at you. I'll bring Pooka and walk you over."

Corin was the recipient of a look of abject gratitude the like of which he'd seldom seen. "That actually sounds like a good idea, Corin. But would you mind…would you mind asking Leli for me? I'll finish getting ready while you do."

"You do that. I'll be right back." Pooka, who was laying by the hearth, lifted his head, but let it fall once more at his master's gesture. "Stay here, Pook. Make sure he doesn't escape." Pooka barked an enthusiastic reply and Corin headed down the hall to the room Leliana shared with Morrigan.

There he found the bard indulging in some primping of her own, while Morrigan read her mother's grimoire by the sunset light streaming in the window nearest her desk. Leliana gave Corin an inquiring look.

"Leli, if you want this to happen tonight, I think you're going to have to go ahead and leave early, before Alistair second-guesses himself into impotence," he told the bard.

"We could not be so fortunate," came a mutter from near the window. Corin ignored it.

"Take him over to The Pearl now and have dinner there. Pooka and I will walk over with you. Provide him a bit of moral support and all that."

"Very well. That is fine with me," said Leliana agreeably. "The Pearl's cook is actually very good. I am almost ready in any event. Is Alistair?"

"I believe so. He was finishing up when I left."

"You might find out if Zevran would like to leave early as well."

"I'll do that. When you're ready, come to our room."

"Very well, Corin."

"And Leli-armor up." The bard gave him a pout. "I know, I know-you'd like to look pretty for Alistair. But we're awfully close to the Landsmeet, and I think we're going to have some trouble. I'd like to be ready for it in any event. He'll be in armor too." Corin grinned. "Besides, undoing all those buckles can be sexy. I shouldn't have to tell you that." He was walking out the door, when he noticed that Morrigan had risen and was headed over to her armor stand. "Morrigan?"

"Do the math, Corin. Five of you going over, but only two coming back. I'll help do escort duty."

He raised an eyebrow. "Thank you. That's very kind of you."

"Not particularly. The issue of the Blight has yet to be resolved. We don't need to be losing our only two Wardens at the last minute. Most animals in the wild are taken when eating or fornicating, after all."

"Of course. But thank you anyway."

A snort was his only answer.

* * *

><p>Zevran was more than willing to move his timetable up a bit. Corin also informed one of the maids that they were going to be three short for dinner. Returning to Leliana and Morrigan, he found them armored up and ready to go. He then collected Alistair, who was also armored by then but still looking on the verge of panic.<p>

"It will be fine, brother," he said, clapping Alistair's armored shoulder. "You'll see. Humans would have died out a long time ago if this wasn't fun!"

Alistair took a deep breath, obviously seeking to master himself. "Right. Fun. Got it."

A knock came at the door. Corin went to open it, to find Leliana and Morrigan waiting outside. Leliana slipped past him to wrap a possessive arm about Alistair's waist and smile up at him, obviously pleased.

"Let's go, shall we?" she said. "I've been looking forward to this all day."

Corin could have kissed her, for the avowal heartened Alistair and he actually smiled down at her. "Yes, let's."

An Antivan accent floated in from the hall. "Shall we be off? The workers at The Pearl are all pining for my magnificence, I'm sure. I do hope they won't fight over me-I should hate to be the cause of despair in those who lost. It is truly a burden to be so alluring."

"I would think the burden would fall upon the _winner_," Morrigan murmured, picking up her staff and heading out the door, "for I certainly find it a burden to have to listen to that elf."

Suppressing a sigh, Corin whistled Pooka up and led them forth.

* * *

><p>The walk to The Pearl was uneventful. Corin was surprised, for he couldn't imagine Zevran foregoing such a golden opportunity to taunt-until he saw Leliana's satisfied smile. The bard had obviously found a way to suppress the assassin. He made a mental note to ask her how the miracle had been achieved later.<p>

Sanga was not much pleased at the prospect of one of her rooms being occupied the entire night during a time when business was booming due to the Landsmeet. Corin sweetened her disposition with a generous handful of silver and watched with an oddly paternal feeling as Leliana and Alistair went through the door that led to the bedrooms. Zevran took some time selecting his winners-a man and a woman-then vanished as well. Which left Corin and Morrigan standing in the common room.

"I know that you would rather have not been interrupted in studying your mother's grimoire," he said mildly. "I do appreciate that you volunteered to come out. May I buy you a drink?"

The witch inclined her head. "Actually, that brandy the elf goes on about is very good. Deplorable as his taste may be in other matters, it must be said that he knows his liquor."

"Find a table then, and I'll get the drinks."

Corin returned with two brandies to find that she had selected a corner table with a good view of both the entrance and the door to the rooms, and was seated with her back to the wall. He turned his own chair so that his back was covered as well and looked across the table at her.

"You've not said much at all about your mother's grimoire. I remember you said that you'd hoped that the grimoire I brought you back from the Tower would be the map of her power, and it proved not to be the case. Is this one what you had expected?"

Morrigan sipped her brandy, rolling it on her tongue appreciatively for a moment. Her golden eyes were hooded.

"It is the map to much of her power," she said after swallowing. "But I suspect that even this book does not contain the whole of it. It would not surprise me to learn that Flemeth has grimoires scattered throughout Thedas, seeds from which she can grow again."

"Morrigan, she turned into a dragon and Alistair and Wynne and Sten and I _killed_ her, remember?"

"And this is not the first time I have told you that I believe she is still alive, Corin. Currently embodied-I think not. Dead-definitely not. One does not live to the age Mother has by being stupid, or ill-prepared. I guarantee you she had contingency plans set in place in the event one of her daughters discovered and rebelled against the fate Flemeth had planned for her. I do not flatter myself that I am the first who has discovered this, or even the most clever. She prefers to inhabit powerful, well-trained mages and it is not always easy to subdue such women."

"So what will you do?"

A laugh which managed to be harsh and melodic at the same time. "What would you do, if you knew you had an enemy who sought your death? Watch my back, constantly." Another, bigger draught of the brandy. "You've been seeing a lot of the queen. Have you done as I suspected, and cemented an alliance?"

"I would not describe it as _cemented _just yet, though she says she will give me an answer tomorrow."

"What did you promise her? Political and military support or something more…intimate?"

Corin took a drink himself. "The latter."

"Good." At his look of surprise, Morrigan smiled. "I have never lied to you about how I am made, Corin. I told you once that only survival and power had meaning to me. And whether you like to admit it or not, you are motivated in much the same way."

"I was not lying when I told you I loved you, Morrigan," came his quiet response. "And that still has not changed."

She sighed and stared into the depths of her glass for a moment. "I know and I have some sympathy for you, or at least as much sympathy as one such as myself can muster. But it is one of the reasons that I cut us off when I did. I could not see our relationship giving you anything but more pain if we continued." Looking back up, she gave Corin a direct look, like a hawk sighting prey.

"You, whether you like to admit it or not, my friend, are a political animal. Early on, I knew that while Duncan might have made a Warden out of the Cousland, he'd not been able to take the Cousland out of the Warden. Watching you manage the dwarves, the elves, the arl, I could tell that you ultimately would not be content with the role that Duncan had forced upon you."

Morrigan's long finger tapped a spot on the tabletop. "Here is Corin the Warden, who if he survives the end of the Blight, spends the rest of his days under orders from Weisshaupt, battling and traveling in obscurity from one darkspawn-spumed tunnel to another." The finger tapped another spot. "And here is Corin the King, who survives the Blight and consolidates the power in Ferelden, and spends the rest of his life doing what he can to strengthen and bolster the land that he loves. Which are you going to choose?"

Corin's hand came to rest over hers on the second spot. She smiled and did not pull the hand away. "So I thought. And what place does Morrigan the Wilder Witch have in that scenario? You cannot make an apostate mage Queen. Would I be a sometime amusement then, slinking into the palace in animal form on the dark of the moon to dally with you? I don't think I care for that fate and I _don't _think the Queen would suffer it without answer." Her other hand rose and took his off of the first hand, curling around it. He sighed at the touch.

"And what of Corin the Warden? Am I to spend the rest of my life following him around, fighting darkspawn? What if I become corrupted doing that? Would you make me a Warden against my will? Or slay me to spare me becoming a ghoul? Or am I to be the little goodwife, safely keeping house for you while you are often away?" Morrigan smiled a most feral smile. "What do you suppose are the odds that I would not take lovers if I felt myself neglected? What would happen to your love then?" She set his hand back down and released it. "Surely you can see that this is for the best."

Corin took another drink. "I can see that my decision is logical, but the heart has little to do with logic, Morrigan. You can tell it that something will not serve, give it all the logical reasons you can think of and it will still regret what might have been."

"Yes. I know. And I am sorry that I caused you pain, Corin."

"I have said it before. You were not at fault."

"I began it."

"And I will _never_ regret that!" His voice was firm and low. The statement punched into the witch's gut and flowed southward, wreaking havoc on her self-control. _I __**so**__ want to pull him across the table and kiss him, have him pull me across the table and ravage me right here on top of it…_Morrigan endeavored to collect herself. _The ritual requires a month of abstinence in advance to work properly. I must not fall short because of mere lust, so close to my goal!_

"How do you find the Queen?" she asked. "Do you like her?"

Corin did not comment on the obvious change of subject. "I think that I do," he said after a moment's reflection. "I hadn't expected to, in truth. But she's not quite the cold-blooded bitch people describe her as. And she is as trapped in all this as her father is."

"Loghain is _trapped_?"

"Yes, I think that he is. Oh, the timing says that he planned this out. It wasn't spur of the moment. Howe didn't wake up and just decide to invade Highever one morning, and Loghain didn't decide to betray Cailan in the heat of battle, no matter that he likes to paint it as a command decision made at the time. I have to wonder if he didn't get wind of what we discovered at Ostagar, about Cailan setting Anora aside for Celene, from some other source. It's the most logical explanation." He took another drink.

"But the thing is, while Loghain might have thought initially that by betraying Cailan-and at one remove my father, who was his greatest competition-he was protecting his daughter and his own influence, in the end he realized that he had also betrayed everything he'd ever cared about. His dearest friend, his country-and most of all himself. He's no longer a true hero any more, he knows it and it galls him."

Morrigan gave Corin a quizzical look. "You sound like you sympathize with him."

Corin shook his head. "I understand him, but I don't sympathize with him. There's no excuse for what he did, and he knows it. I think that's why he's been flailing about in such a heavy-handed manner since Ostagar. Sending blood mages and assassins against people, selling Ferelden subjects into slavery, hammering any bann who dares to question his right to rule…such are not the actions of a true hero of the people. What they _are_ are the actions of a man who has set himself upon a path that even he himself no longer finds palatable. Who _has_ to win, because only by winning and silencing the opposition completely can he delude himself that he was right to do this. I'll guarantee you Loghain thinks that if he can just finish us off and consolidate his power, he'll make it up afterwards to Ferelden by straightening up and becoming a perfect ruler."

He tossed the rest of his brandy back. "But it _is_ a delusion. Power acquired in such an unlawful manner…I have to think that it will not hold. I don't think Andraste or the Maker care for such kings."

"Some of what he has done seems very sensible to me."

The witch found herself the recipient of a fond smile. "Yes, I know. And I love you despite your shortcomings." She snorted.

"Well, if you wish not to offend this Queen you will not speak of, we should probably get back to Arl Eamon's. It would not do to have her think you're tupping me or one of the women here." Morrigan drank the rest of her brandy in one gulp.

"Indeed." Corin got to his feet and came around the table to pull her chair out for her. It was one of those courtly mannerisms of his that both pleased and annoyed her at the same time.

Pooka got to his feet, stretched, then fell in at Corin's side as they left the brothel. The sun had set, but there was still a glow in the west and the street shimmered in that twilight red aura. It was a time of day that non-magical Corin always found magical. The moon was almost full and it was just starting to peek over the rooftops. Morrigan sighed, and Corin shot her a knowing look.

"Going to go flying tonight?"

"I might," she admitted. "I _hate_ this city! We've been here for so long. I need to get out of it."

"Just be careful."

"I will be a very large owl. There's nothing else in the night sky that can harm them save for dragons, and we've seen none of those here. Yet."

Neither spoke after that, walking along in companionable silence. Corin ruminated upon all the countless miles he'd walked with this woman in just this way. Morrigan had a long stride and kept up with him easily. He noticed that they'd unconsciously fallen into step, he and Morrigan and Pooka. He smiled to himself.

They were almost to the Marketplace, when the hairs on the back of Corin's neck prickled and Pooka growled. Dark shapes dashed out into the street in front of them, and a quick glance over his shoulder showed more behind them. He counted at least twenty men.

_Too many! _came the thought. Corin quashed it mercilessly, for such thoughts left unchecked tended to become self-fulfilling prophecies. "Back to back!" he barked at his companions as the men rushed forward.

"_Kill the Warden!"_ The calls rang out in the still night.


	8. Chapter 8

This story is rated M for a reason. This chapter is one of the reasons. Alistair and Corin have two very different evenings...

Thanks to mutive, mike, almostinsane, 86kay, Valin, none, .heart, anime/videogamefreak, JadeOokami, Maben00, Mark Shepard, spectre4hire, apm and Shinkansen for your kind words about the last chapter, particularly since it was a bit of a filler. Hopefully this one will make up for it-it's short, but juicy.

* * *

><p>Alistair jumped when Leliana closed the door behind them. He'd been in The Pearl before, but never on the brothel's actual business. Usually it was to meet or kill people, so the rooms' luxurious appointments had never really registered with him. They did so now-he thought he'd remember the pattern of the wainscoting for the rest of his life.<p>

Leliana reached up to take him by the shoulders, smiling, her eyes alight with humor.

"Alistair, Alistair, Alistair!" she purred, shoving him into a chair. "Stop looking as if you're about to be executed! You are going to enjoy this!"

"What about…shouldn't we…I mean…take off the armor?"

"In good time," the bard answered, straddling his legs and dropping into his lap. Though no real contact was possible through two layers of armor, the pressure caused by her weight and his overactive imagination was already causing him to swell within his metal casing. Leliana was nose to nose with him.

"I know what the rest of you think about Orlesians," came her lilting voice, the Orlesian accent suddenly very strong. "I do hear you all talk. That they're finicky and fussy about all the wrong things." Her right hand rose to begin stroking his neck above the armor and the shell of his ear. "After all, why spend so much time and money on picking out the perfect pair of shoes, when you all you need is a good, stout set of boots to clomp through the mud? Why have dinner in seven courses when a big pot of gooey lamb stew will do?" She leaned close to breathe in his ear and Alistair shivered. "Do you know why Orlesians-and almost-Orlesians- do those things, Alistair?"

"No!" he gasped.

"To _prolong_ the enjoyment," she murmured. "You are a banquet and I'm going to enjoy every _bite_!"

Her lips fastened upon his in earnest, her tongue snaked into his mouth and after a few moments Alistair began to think that maybe Orlesians had a point or two in their favor after all.

* * *

><p>As their attackers rushed in on them, Corin, Morrigan and Pooka turned their backs to each other with the ease of long practice. Corin cast a quick, longing look at the walls on either side of the street. If they could have put their backs to one of those walls their chances of survival would have gone up considerably. But the street in this wealthier part of Denerim was too wide and the men were advancing too swiftly, running to either side to cut them off.<p>

Starfang hissed out of its scabbard and Pooka snarled. Corin felt the temperature drop as Morrigan cast a blizzard out at the advancing men. Once again, he mentally thanked the ancient Arcane Warrior who had given him the skills to impart to her that enabled her to wear armor and bear a sword and shield. The Juggernaut Plate she was wearing was better armor than most warriors ever dreamed of wearing. He could only hope that its protection and her own formidable magic would bring her through the battle safely.

For himself, when their opponents came within sword's reach, the world changed, narrowed to the immediate. Oghren had tried in vain on more than one occasion to impart to him the art of berserking.

"You've got anger enough, that's for sure," the dwarf had grumbled after one unsuccessful attempt, "but you're a cold fighter. You've got to be a hot fighter to berserk. You never stop thinking, that's your problem."

If what Oghren had explained to him was true, berserkers channeled their rage and just plowed in, with total disregard for their own safety. Corin couldn't do that no matter how hard he tried. But what did sometimes happen to him when he was fighting full out was that he seemed to slip up onto a higher plane of performance, where time itself seemed to slow and he could anticipate his opponents' next moves before they even knew they were making them. It didn't happen reliably in every battle, or even in the ones where he was sorely pressed. But desperate to save the woman he loved, it happened now.

His shield lashed out and crushed in the face of the man on his left, even as his sword punched through the throat of the man in front of him. Beside him, Pooka tore out the throat of another. Behind him, he could hear screams of pain as Morrigan shot lightning down Spellweaver's blade.

_Three, down. Seventeen to go at least._ Corin fought faster.

* * *

><p>The floor around the chair was strewn with the pieces of two sets of upper armor, discarded after some of that sexy unbuckling Corin had mentioned.<p>

After they'd kissed for a while, Leliana slipped her hand into the front of Alistair's shirt, stroking her fingers through the soft blond hairs there, then teasing his nipples gently. He jumped, sucked in breath, then relaxed once more.

"Could I…do that to you?" he asked a bit breathlessly.

"I was hoping that you would," she replied, going back to placing light kisses upon his face and nuzzling his ears.

A moment later, she felt his hand pulling her shirt up from out of her pants, then sliding hesitantly up inside. She had no breast band on. Calloused fingertips brushed the bottom of her breast, then slid up, cupping it. His thumb brushed her nipple and she purred.

"Very nice, Alistair," Leliana encouraged. "Keep doing that, gently and don't forget the other one. It gets lonely."

"Riiiiiiight. Lonely," he said, smiling, but his other hand slid up inside the shirt as well. Leliana tipped her head back and groaned, thrusting her breasts forward into his hands. Encouraged by her response, he began rubbing her nipples with more confidence, even rolling them gently between his fingers. Then, daringly, he bent his head to kiss the base of her throat where the collar of her shirt gaped.

"Mmmmmm, I love a man who is a quick study!" Leliana let him continue in that vein for a few moments, then said, "Alistair, take my shirt off and put your mouth where your fingers have been."

He looked up at her for a moment, flushed and a little confused. Then he reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it loose the rest of the way. The bard raised her arms and he pulled it off over her head. For a moment he simply stared, though she was relieved to note that he wasn't blushing in embarrassment any more. _He's getting into the spirit of things, thank the Maker! _Then his hands slid up her ribs and pulled her towards him. _Sweet Andraste, but he's __**strong**__!_ His lips closed gently about her right nipple; at her pleased mewl, he ventured to suck a little.

_Not only a quick study, but can take direction! This is going to be so much __**fun**__!_

* * *

><p>"<em>You will fear me!" <em>Morrigan snarled her favorite battle cry. The next moment fearful cries broke out behind Corin's back, by which he knew she had unlimbered her horror spell. Then lightning began to crackle once more.

"Pook, switch to Morrigan!" he called and the dog turned his attention to the witch's opponents. Morrigan, like all mages, was vulnerable to a close-in press and Corin could take care of himself in one. It was better that Pooka defend her.

Corin had four men upon him as immediate threats. He knocked back two with a shield swipe so vicious they folded over their bellies, falling back. These were sword and dagger men, roguish types. Most of Corin's ambushers were such, though there was one large fellow with a maul to the back he was keeping an eye on. He couldn't see what Morrigan was facing. The other two he treated to a sword slash at eye level. One of the men dodged back in time, the other did not, falling, clutching his face with a scream of pain. _Four down._

He risked a half-step forward to finish the one he'd knocked down and felt fire lance into his sword arm at the elbow joint of his armor. The one who was fast on his feet had struck back, serpent-quick. Corin turned a little, interposing his shield in that direction and waggled his arm experimentally. It still worked. Baring his teeth in a wolfish smile, he snarled at the man, "You've got my attention now. I hope that was what you wanted!" The attacker soon found that it was not. He was indeed good; Corin was much, much better. In three strokes the man was disarmed, dead and sliding down Starfang's blade. _Five. _Another, stronger shield bash discouraged the two who'd been bashed earlier and were coming back for more. This time, Corin felt and heard bone breaking and they stayed down. _Six, seven_.

Pooka snarled behind him, he felt rather than saw motion, then there was an anguished yelp.

"Pook!" he cried. Morrigan called tersely, "Dog is down." There was another blast of cold and the sound of crackling ice.

Maul Man was coming in swinging. The blast of force accompanying that swing was a weapon in and of itself, but Corin was long past the time when such knocked him over or drove him back. He took it on his shield, then stepped in and bound the man's weapon, his sword thrusting up in the space between them and beneath the man's chin, up into his brain. _Eight_. Another swordsman came in on Corin's right, hoping to take advantage of the bind. Corin couldn't free himself in time to parry. The enemy sword crashed against Corin's side; he felt a rib crack but the dragonbone spared him any worse damage. Starfang was finally wrenched free and a swift, backhand stroke took the man in the neck. He fell, gouting blood. _Nine._

* * *

><p>"On your feet, Alistair," Leliana coaxed, getting to her own feet. Alistair complied somewhat reluctantly-he had been enjoying himself very much. "Time to get the rest of this off. Stand still." He did as she ordered and she stooped to unbuckle the waist belt, then all the other myriad buckles that held his leg armor on. It eventually came free and she lowered it to the floor.<p>

"Now help me." Her skirt of overlapping leather plates and her leather greaves were much less complicated and dealt with in a much shorter time. Alistair had, she noted, nimble fingers for such a big man. It boded well for his future as a lover.

"Do you want me to pull your boots, Leli?"

"Yes, please."

She seated herself in the chair and he knelt to do the honors. She was very pleased when he took some initiative himself and paused to stroke and fondle her feet and calves after they were bared.

"Oh, that feels really good!" That sunshine smile broke over his face, the smile of a much younger boy who has done well and is happy to be praised. Leliana was glad to see it, but it also gave her a momentary surge of anger, repressed deep within. _Eamon, you have much to answer for! _"Now let me do yours."

They switched places in the chair. Alistair's boots were more difficult, requiring her to straddle each leg in turn. She giggled when, while pulling the second boot, she felt a hesitant stroke of his hand down her ass.

Pulling him back to his feet when boots and stockings were gone, Leliana stepped into his arms, pressing her bare chest to his. Alistair made a pleased noise and his big hands came up to carefully stroke her back. She did the same to him for a few moments, then let hers slip lower and cup his buttocks, pulling him up snug against her. He jumped, then settled back down as she fondled him. There was a very promising bulge pressing against her.

"I have a confession to make," she murmured in his ear. "I've been wanting to do this for _months_ now. Every time you bend over in camp without your armor on. You have a wonderful ass."

"I…uh, I like to watch you too," he admitted a bit breathlessly. "In camp, like you said, but also…when we're marching. There's a reason I rear guard so much."

Leliana laughed, a peal of silver bells. "Not so much rear _guarding _as rear _watching_, eh? I guess it's a good thing nobody tried to sneak up on us from behind!"

"Yeah, it probably is," Alistair admitted, then gasped when one of her hands slipped down between them and began popping the buttons on his fly. Her other arm locked around his waist to hold him in place.

"Shhhh now. Be at ease." When the fly was open, she released him and took a step back. At the sight of what sprang forth from the opening, her eyebrow quirked upwards in surprise.

"Alistair, my friend," Leliana said prayerfully, for truly it was worthy of worship. "You are going to make some lucky women very happy with _that_!"

* * *

><p>Corin had dropped the last of his immediate opponents-<em>ten<em>-with a pommel strike to the face that drove the man's nose right up into his brain. There were a couple of dark figures up ahead at the entrance to the Marketplace drawing bows. He couldn't close with them in time, so he raised his shield to deflect the arrows and hoped that Morrigan wasn't seeing the same on her side. Apparently she wasn't and had felled all her attackers, for suddenly fire blossomed around the archers and they fell to the ground, shrieking. He turned to find her with shield slung and sword sheathed, Winter's Breath in hand. Morrigan preferred her staff for distance work and everything but close-in fighting. Dead men were spread in windrows around her, her hair was disarranged, her face flushed, but she seemed in one piece.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes. I am uninjured. You?"

"Nothing major." The rib ached when he breathed and the arm wound burned, but he'd fought with worse.

He then turned to his dog, who was laying still in the street. A great sword was thrust up through Pooka's belly and out his back beside his spine, but the man who had wielded it was dead, eyes staring sightlessly skyward above his torn out throat.

"Oh, Pook!" Corin fell to his knees. Pooka was still breathing, albeit shallowly. Ever so carefully, Corin removed the dead hand from around the sword, replacing it with his own and grimacing, pulled the blade straight out. The mabari jerked a little, issuing a stifled yelp, then fell back, its breath whining through its teeth.

"Heal him, Morrigan."

"He's _gone_, Corin," Morrigan said urgently. "Gone past healing. Mercy him and let's be gone before more of these thugs come. I'm not sure I can stand another fight like that."

"_Heal him_." When she did not immediately respond, Corin reached into his pouch for one of his health potions. He always carried Mabari Crunch for Pooka as well, but the dog could obviously not chew the biscuit in the shape he was in. He lifted Pooka's head, pulled the corner of his lip open and poured the potion into the pocket it made a bit at a time. "C'mon, Pook, _swallow_," he urged.

The Mabari's tongue lapped feebly, and then to Morrigan's amazement, it swallowed. Corin's hand caressed its head. "There's a good boy, Pook."

She snarled in fear and frustration. "Corin, _come on!"_

Corin did not move. "If you're not going to help, Morrigan, then get back to Eamon's and get the others."

"I can't leave you here alone. What if more of them come? It's only a _dog_, Corin!"

Uncorking another health potion, Corin turned his head to look up at her. Morrigan almost took a step back, for the face before her was the naked face of the boy who had knelt in his father's blood in a kitchen over a year ago, a face that only showed now when Corin was having a nightmare about that time, an anguished and grief-stricken face. It seemed almost obscene to look upon it.

But Corin's voice, disconnected from that face, was oddly gentle. "No, Morrigan, he's only my _family_, the only family I have left. And you know the number one rule-we don't leave any of our people behind, so long as they have breath in their body."

Because someone had had to leave his still-living mother behind and Morrigan knew from her nights beside Corin that his worst nightmares were of what had happened to Eleanor Cousland, because he didn't know what had become of her. _What if she had not been killed outright? What if Howe's men had captured her alive, violated and tortured her? _Howe had implied as much before Corin had killed him, but whether it was truth or Howe merely being hurtful would probably never be known for certain. She growled in irritation and pointed Winter's Breath at the dog, even as Corin got another potion down him. Green healing light washed over him and Pooka's breathing strengthened.

"Thank you, Morrigan," came Corin's voice, so soft she almost didn't hear it.

"You are a damned, sentimental _fool!_" she snarled. "And you're going to get both of us killed!"

"Perhaps one day," he agreed in a more normal voice. "But not tonight." There was a sound of approaching footsteps and Morrigan spun on her heel to level the staff, but these warriors had torches with them and were in the uniform of the city guard. Sergeant Kylon was with them.

The sergeant had more than once described his men as a bunch of noble bastard crybabies lacking either brain or spine. Several of them had jumped when Morrigan leveled her staff and they all looked now at the carnage with green and fearful faces. Kylon, on the other hand, was unmoved by all the dead bodies, though obviously impressed.

"Never ceases to amaze me, the number of stupid people who live in this city," he commented as he surveyed the corpses, eyes twinkling in the torchlight. "Not that you seem to need it, Warden, but could you use some help?"

* * *

><p>Leliana suspected Alistair wasn't going to last very much longer, so she decided to move things along. Hooking her hands into the waistband of his breeches, she pushed them down off his hips. They fell down below his knees and he blushed furiously. <em>Oh dear. I thought we were past all that. <em>She made sure to be very matter-of-fact. "Do the same for me, please." He did so and she could feel his hands shaking a little bit, but they also slid back up over the curves of her buttocks eagerly enough.

Stepping out of her breeches, she took his hand. "Come to bed, Alistair." He kicked free of his pants and followed her docilely. She indicated the bed. "Up with you. On your back."

His brow furrowed in confusion. "I thought you were supposed to be on _your_ back."

Leliana grinned. "There are many ways of making love, Alistair. I'll show you some of them tonight. We're doing it this way first because…well, because frankly you're _big _and it's easier for me this way."

There was not a male alive who could resist having his equipment complimented, and if there was, his name wasn't Alistair. Not only reassured but preening a bit, he did as he was bidden and settled himself back against the pillows. Leliana surveyed the hard-muscled, magnificent body before her and what jutted up from it with pleased anticipation.

_Whoever else has you later, __**I **__will be the unforgettable first! _

She got up onto the bed and lowered herself to lay full-length upon him. Kissing him tenderly on the lips, stroking his cheek softly, she could feel the length of him twitching spasmodically against her belly and leaking a little bit. _Ah, virgins. He'll learn to prolong in time. But we'd best finish this now._ She was certainly wet enough-she'd been waiting for this moment all day.

Raising herself up on her arms, she straddled Alistair, looking down at him fondly. "We're going to do this now, dear one. All right?"

He nodded almost desperately and she began to lower herself onto him. Large as he was, she did it slowly, a bit at a time, till she became accustomed to his girth. Finally sheathing herself completely, she looked down and grinned at the look of stunned amazement on his face. Then she began to move.

* * *

><p><em>Maker!<em> Alistair thought as Leliana's tight wet warmth enclosed him. It was ever so much better than the furtive wanking he'd done since he was a boy. Every time she slid upwards, a frisson of sensation shot up his spine. Every time she sat back down, a different, but equally pleasing sensation did the same. Her breasts were bobbing alluringly before him-he raised his head up to suckle one and Leliana laughed in delight. It sounded like birds singing to his fevered brain.

All the Chantry preaching he'd endured as a boy, all the lectures on suppressing shameful urges, seemed very far away now. Instead, something Zevran had once said came back to him with crystal clarity. _"The Maker gave us these urges. He gave us these __**parts**__. Why do they fit together so well if he didn't want us to use them?" _ As Alistair began to culminate and white hot stars exploded behind his eyes, two things were absolutely clear to him.

_The Maker is a damned clever fellow! And Corin was right-this is __**fun**__!_


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks to my reviewers last chapter-mutive, anime/videogamefreak, mike, Gemini1179, Jade Ookami, spectre4hire, almostinsane, FellowNrd (x3!), and mille libri. mike-no, Eamon didn't pay the rogues. I've read a lot of fic which has him as a bad guy and don't have a problem with it, but he's not evil here. Most of his sins are sins of omission. Gemini1179-you were right about a certain lack of clarity regarding that. I've cleaned it up a bit. When I play an Arcane warrior, my sword is my secondary weapon and I still use a staff for almost everything. The sword doesn't come out unless I'm swarmed. Morrigan's the same way here.

This chapter started stretching out and stretching out, so I found a break point and took it. There's another chapter coming soon, and that one does have Corin and Anora together in it, though not necessarily in a smutty way.

* * *

><p>Anora had informed Eamon of her intention to eat dinner downstairs that evening and was actually coming down to the dining room when a hubbub broke out at the front door. It burst open and a strangely hulking figure came through, which once inside was revealed to be Corin Cousland carrying his huge mabari across his shoulders. The Wilder witch was with him in full armor and he was accompanied by two of the sentries the arl kept stationed outside.<p>

A maid who was sweeping the carpet looked up, dropped her broom and shrieked, fleeing the room. Anora got to the foot of the stairs before the reason for her terror became obvious. The mabari was drenched in blood, and so was Cousland. It was not immediately apparent because of the color of his armor, but up close it could be seen that he was liberally spattered and dappled, both with blood and some gray and red bits Anora did not want to speculate on. The apostate was also somewhat spattered, but not to the extent Cousland was.

Cousland passed close enough that Anora could smell the coppery, charnel house reek. He acknowledged her with a tiny inclination of the head and a curt "Your Majesty", before carrying the dog on up the stairs. It was rather unnerving, given that she could not see his face in the helm. Morrigan, less burdened, hastened into the dining room. The Warden called to the golem as he started up.

"Shale! Possible squishing! Wait for me at the front door!"

The golem rumbled awake and began moving towards the front door. The arl's men jumped out of the way.

Anora looked down. There appeared to be a couple of spots of blood on Eamon's pristine carpets. She shuddered. Despite her father being Ferelden's greatest general, and having had a modicum of sword training herself, Anora had never been exposed to war's blood and gore. Loghain had always made a point of never coming before his daughter until he had cleaned up. For a peasant, or perhaps because he'd started as one and felt he had to be more careful of appearances, he was more fastidious in certain manners than many nobles. And Cailan's first and only battles had taken place at Ostagar, far from her.

Cousland had just brought the essence of war right into the house.

Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan had been sharing a drink in the dining room before dinner. They came out, followed by the Circle mage and Morrigan, both of whom went past them and up the stairs.

"What is going on? Mistress Morrigan said something about them being attacked on their way back from The Pearl."

"Lord Cousland just came in carrying his mabari. They were both covered with blood," Anora said.

"The street leading into the Marketplace is covered in bodies according to the watch, my lord," one of the soldiers said. "They said the Warden and the others were set upon by at least twenty men. Twenty dead men now."

"Maker!" the bann exclaimed. "They are truly formidable warriors."

"Among best of this generation, Cousland and Alistair are," the arl said. "I suppose we should be flattered, that Loghain feels so threatened."

"We take this as a sign we're doing something right then?" Teagan quipped, the corner of his mouth quirking.

"I suppose so," Eamon snorted. "Though I wonder why they set upon Cousland. Alistair is the Theirin."

_That one is easy, _Anora thought. _Because Cousland is the true threat. Without Cousland at his back, Alistair would never aspire to the throne._

A couple of minutes later, the true threat came clinking back down the stairs, the witch at his heels. He'd done his helm off and his black hair was plastered close to his head by sweat. Thanks to the closed helm, his face at least was clean of blood and it bore that diffident expression that Anora was coming to know so well. The Qunari and the dwarf were close behind him, adjusting buckles on their armor as they came. Anora was astonished that they could armor up so quickly, then reflected upon the wandering life the little party had lived over the last year. Being able to arm swiftly probably meant the difference between life and death.

'My lord arl," Cousland said to Eamon, "Morrigan, Pooka and I were set upon coming back from The Pearl. I'm going back to make sure Alistair and the others are safe."

"Do you want Teagan and I to armor up and go with you?" Eamon offered. The young Warden's bright blue eyes held the arl's more faded ones for a long moment. _Eamon is a suspect_, Anora realized suddenly and wondered what had passed between the two men earlier that day.

But whatever differences they may have had, Cousland saw something in the arl's expression that seemed to reassure him. "That's not necessary, sir. In fact, it's probably ill-advised. There's no reason to give Loghain a chance at you and the bann as well."

"Are you sure it was Loghain's men and not some random footpads?"

"Random footpads don't normally roam the streets in packs twenty-four strong," came the dry answer. "Though I was too worried about Pooka to search the bodies for proof as I should have. Forgive me, my lords, Your Majesty, but I _really_ must go."

"Of course," said the arl. "Do you want some of my men?"

Cousland cast a look around at his companions, who had finished their arming and looked dour and dangerous. "I think we'll be all right, but a half dozen wouldn't go amiss as backup, if you can send them after us."

"I will do that," Eamon said. Addressing the man who'd spoken to him earlier, he said, "You heard Lord Cousland, Javis. Take five men to The Pearl. You are under his orders."

"My lord arl!" Javis acknowledged the order with a quick bow. "My lord!" he said to Cousland with a second bow, then headed out the door with his fellow soldier. The young Warden put his helmet on and headed out as well, followed by his companions.

"It keeps getting squished and squishing things without me," the golem was complaining as they left. "One could begin to feel excluded."

"Tell you what, Shale," came Cousland's reply. "I've already had more than my share of squishing tonight, so if it comes down to more, I'll step back and let you do your share and mine as well."

They were out the door and into the yard by then, so Anora could not hear the words of the golem's reply, but from the tone of the rumbling, the strange, stony being had been appeased.

* * *

><p>Leliana was extremely pleased. Along with the darkspawn sensing abilities and heightened appetite, Grey Wardens apparently had enhanced strength and stamina. She had thought to take a break for dinner before round two, but Alistair had been ready and eager to go again much more swiftly than she would have believed possible. So after some further instruction in the all-important art of foreplay, Leliana settled back and let him proceed in the more conventional manner. After another mutually satisfactory experience, the two of them dozed off.<p>

A quiet knock on the door awakened her. Leliana looked over at Alistair, who was fast asleep. Knowing how difficult it was for Wardens to get decent rest, she threw on her shirt and breeches and went to the door herself. A second knock sounded before she was able to get there.

Zevran stood outside, looking sleek, sated and content as a well-fed cat. He peered over her shoulder into the room at the bed where Alistair sprawled in oblivious abandon.

"I take it congratulations are in order?" he inquired silkily. Leliana glowered and he chuckled and said, "Truly, I wonder which of you is the luckier. He's much more… impressive than I had thought he'd be."

The bard stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind her. A horrible suspicion was growing in her mind.

'You weren't in our room earlier, were you?"

Zevran's tanned features arranged themselves into a passable expression of injured innocence.

"Me? In your room? How could that happen? A lowly assassin such as myself could never sneak up unobserved upon a bard of your status. Besides, I was busy with diversions of my own, if you recollect." He sighed mournfully. "You have a very suspicious mind, nightingale."

Leliana gave him an irritated look, knowing there was no point to pressing the question further. Besides, she did not mind an audience. So even if Zevran _had_ spied, as long as Alistair didn't find out, no harm had been done. "Is there some reason you're out here _besides_ satisfying your prurient curiosity?"

The assassin slapped his forehead, as if in belated recollection. "Actually, there is! It almost slipped my mind. Our fearless leader is downstairs, covered with blood. He's been killing things and it looks like he's ready to kill a few more."

"What happened?"

"He, Morrigan and Pooka were set upon after they left us and Pooka was nearly killed. Corin was afraid that we might be in trouble here as well, so he came back. He's downstairs with Morrigan, Oghren, Sten, Shale and several of Eamon's finest, and Sanga is at a total loss. I gather that, even as inventive as she is, she's not quite sure what to do with a Qunari _and _a golem. Though it did look as if wheels were starting to turn in her head as I left…"

"What does Corin want us to do?

"To come back with him. He's sorry to interrupt Alistair's big night, but he's worried about our safety."

Leliana smiled. "He is _such_ a mother hen sometimes! " Her brow furrowed. "I hope Pooka gets better-he's such a sweet dog. Tell Corin we'll be down in a few minutes. I'll wake Alistair up."

"I will do that." The assassin gave her a knowing smile. "I'm sure you've made a wonderful start here tonight, my canary, but do work on that threesome thing, will you? From the look of things, there's enough of _that_ for both of us!"

* * *

><p>Corin had offered to spot his companions a drink while they waited, which offer Oghren of course immediately accepted. Morrigan declined.<p>

"Afraid you'll not be able to fly straight, or is that not still on for tonight?" Corin murmured to her.

"It is indeed still on for tonight and unfortunately there is some validity to your question," the witch replied coolly.

Shale was obviously not in need of refreshment and expounded upon this superiority of golems over flesh creatures for a few moments to a fascinated audience of the other brothel patrons in the room, all of whom had been looking askance at Corin and his party. Sten predictably declined the offer of liquor, then a thought occurred to him.

"This is a place where humans engage in that casual, non-procreative coupling of which you are so fond, is it not?" he asked Corin.

"It is."

"And it is a very expensive establishment, well-equipped to cater to all sorts of vices?"

"We pride ourselves upon that, ser," Sanga put in haughtily.

"Have you _tea_ then? I do not refer to the mishmash assortment of leaves swept up from the road which passes for tea in this country. I mean _real _tea, from Seheron?"

To Corin's astonishment, Sanga smiled genuinely. "Now _you, _ser, are a man after my own heart. I do indeed have Seheron tea."

A momentary look of naked longing came over the Qunari's face, then was repressed. "I should like to see it. And if you do have it, I should like to prepare it myself, if that is permitted. There is a certain way of doing it in my homeland. It is easier to do than to explain."

"I would actually like to see that," Sanga said, her eyes alight with curiosity. "Why don't you come back to the kitchen with me, big fellow?"

The Qunari's odd, reddish-purple eyes fastened upon her for a moment. "I would suffer worse indignities for a proper pot of tea." He got up and followed the madam docilely.

Zevran strolled into the room, watching them go with a quirked eyebrow. "_Sten _is going to partake of The Pearl's delights?" he asked in disbelief.

"Sten is going to show Sanga how you properly brew Seheron tea," Corin said wryly. "No doubt along with delivering up some lectures upon casual coupling without purpose as written in the Qun."

The assassin shuddered. "I've been on the receiving end of a couple of those. Most unpleasant." He gave Corin a mocking salute. "Mission completed, sir. I told Leliana what was going on. Alistair was asleep, having comported himself most magnificently from report. She said she'd wake him and they'll be down in a few minutes."

"Thanks, Zev," Corin replied, then hailed a passing waitress.

"Could I get a cup of tea?" he inquired. "The standard, road-sweepings variety will suffice." After giving him a puzzled look and a nod, the woman scurried off.

"Now we wait for Alistair. And hope he's not too vexed with me for interrupting his evening."

* * *

><p>Alistair and Leliana came out into the common room a few minutes later. Corin immediately leapt to his feet and began applauding. Not knowing exactly what was going on, but not wanting to offend the big fellow in the bloody armor with the very shiny sword and all the dangerous looking sideboys and girls, the other customers in the room leapt to their feet and applauded as well. Zevran put fingers to lips and made a shrill whistle. Oghren thumped his now-empty tankard on the table and bellowed, "Way to go, Warden! Good on ya!"<p>

Alistair blushed to tips of his ears and came directly to Corin.

"And here I thought _I _was the bastard!" he complained. Then he asked, his expression concerned, "How is Pook?"

"Don't know yet. Wynne's looking him over now. But Morrigan saved him."

"Thanks, Morrigan," Alistair said sincerely. "That was good work."

Morrigan, looking very uncomfortable, muttered, "'Twas not so well done as all that. But you are welcome."

Alistair gave Corin a puzzled look. The Cousland Warden just shrugged as if to say Morrigan was just being Morrigan, then asked, "So-was it fun?"

"Yes, it was _fun_! You were right, as usual. Must get tiring, huh?"

Morrigan caressed her staff meaningfully. "I do not wish to hear any further details, gentlemen. Keep them to yourselves until later when you are alone."

"As if I'd tell _you_ about it!" Alistair scoffed and Morrigan glared, the brief moment of amity forgotten. Corin sighed, reassured that the world was back on its axis and they were doing business as usual.

"So-are we leaving now?" his Warden brother asked.

"In a few minutes," Corin replied. "We're waiting for the meeting to let out."

"What meeting?"

"The Denerim chapter of Tea Snobs of Thedas."

Corin explained and Alistair shook his head in bafflement. "I don't get it. How many different ways can you make tea? You throw leaves in water and boil it."

His Warden brother chuckled. "Alistair, you are so very _Ferelden_ sometimes! I hate to tell you, but the answer to all of life's culinary questions isn't 'Boil that!'."

"You obviously never grew up eating Chantry cooking."

"I've eaten _yours_, which I suspect is worse."

"There is that," Alistair admitted.

At that moment, Sten and Sanga came down the passage from the kitchen. The two of them were in an intent discussion, which became audible as they came closer.

"That is correct," the Qunari was saying, gesturing with more enthusiasm than Corin had ever seen him display unless cookies were involved. "The leaves are laid _gently_ in the cup and then the water is poured over them. There are meditations from the Qun specifically for the timing of this, but you are an infidel, so you will have to devise another way to time it. You saw how long I let the leaves steep and there is also the matter of personal taste to consider. If one prefers strong tea, one can do an additional meditation."

"And you say the pot has to be how big?" Sten indicated some rather small dimensions with his big hands. Sanga's brow furrowed. "Hmmmm, I may have to have it made specially, and I don't know where I can get the other tools you spoke of."

"Those are more ceremonial than anything else. You can work with what you have in your kitchen. The important thing for you to remember is the temperature of the water, having the right pot and the correct way to steep the leaves."

"Well it was a most excellent pot of tea! Your way of brewing unlocked a whole new layer of flavors." The madam pressed a small pouch of what was presumably tea upon Sten, who accepted it with a courteous inclination of the head. "I hope that you get the opportunity to come back sometimes. I would be happy to share tea with you any time."

"I would enjoy that. There are few in this country who know how to really appreciate tea." He looked up to find that he was being regarded by every single one of his companions with bemusement. He cleared his throat.

"Kadan, I apologize for delaying you."

"It's not a problem, Sten. We're in no hurry, so long as we leave together. Which I think we'll go ahead and do now, before Alistair starts conferring with the cook or something." Giving Sanga another apology for having invaded her establishment in his bloodstained state, Corin gathered up his unruly brood and departed.

* * *

><p>The arl and the bann and the queen sat to dinner alone. Eamon had decided that for the sake of his cook's temper it would be better to proceed than to wait for Cousland and Company's return. The only one of Cousland's people in the house was the elderly mage, and she had the maids upstairs hopping with her calls for hot water, soap and clean towels as she tended to the mabari. More maids were busy downstairs trying to eradicate the signs of Cousland's passage before they set into the carpet.<p>

Anora sat at the head of the long table, with Eamon and Teagan at her right and left hands. The conversation was desultory at first, comments upon the quality of the food and drink. Then the arl said, "Lord Cousland says that he proposed an alliance to you, Your Majesty."

Anora dabbed her lips daintily with her napkin. "Come now, my lord arl, I thought there was a policy within these walls of no political speech at the table. It certainly seemed so the other day."

Teagan Guerrin chuckled. "She's got you there, Eamon."

"It is true that in the presence of many I usually restrict political talk at the table-it excludes some and offends others," Eamon said easily. "But I thought that with just the three of us, it might be more successful. Since we are all so knowledgeable about such things."

Anora inclined her head in regal assent. "Very well then. The answer to your question is yes, Lord Cousland did in fact propose an alliance with me." She did not say anything more and the silence stretched out for a very long minute, until the arl finally broke and asked, "May I inquire as to whether you have given him an answer, and what your thoughts upon the matter are?"

Anora took a bite of her salad and chewed, her brow slightly furrowed as if she were marshalling her thoughts. Eamon sat patiently. His younger brother seemed amused.

"As I'm sure you know, my lord arl, Lord Cousland is a very bright young man and argues his position well," she said at last after swallowing. "I have been giving his request serious consideration. He is absolutely correct that in the absence of a _legitimate_ Theirin heir, the next logical candidates for the throne would come from Ferelden's two teyrnirs. And that the most obvious solution is for scions of both of those houses to unite and create a new royal dynasty for Ferelden."

"You do not believe that the people would find even an illegitimate Theirin acceptable?"

"I am sure that they would, at least initially. But what the people find acceptable and what is the best for Ferelden are two entirely different things. And in a time of such overwhelming crisis, the last thing Ferelden needs is an unwilling king. I have been given to believe that Alistair does not want the throne."

"Cousland claims not to want it either."

"Then he's either lying to you, himself or both," Anora said, then temporized. "Or more precisely it is possible that he does not actually _desire_ to rule, but knows perfectly well that he _can_ and therefore puts himself forward for the job because it needs doing. Which would seem about right for Bryce Cousland's son." She took a sip of her wine. "My lord arl, if the positions of the two of them had been reversed, if _Alistair_ had accomplished all of these things with Cousland's help, then I would be more inclined to overlook my distaste at the idea of marrying Cailan's brother, for then it would be obvious that he was the best choice for Ferelden. But he seems very happy in his subordinate role and that gives me grave reservations about him succeeding as king, particularly in such a troubled time."

"I hope you will pardon my saying so, but I would have thought that a subordinate king would have suited you perfectly well, Your Majesty."

"It is understandable that you would think so. And it is true that there are certainly advantages for me in such a marriage. Advantages and burdens that I already know only all too well. And I hope you will pardon _my_ saying so, but a subordinate king, or at the very least, a king who has been brought up to know nothing of the realities of governance, who would require constant counseling and advice, who regards _you _as a father figure, gives you certain political advantages as well."

Eamon sipped his own wine. "It would be disingenuous to deny it."

"Well there you are. Aren't we both being delightfully candid this evening!"

Teagan laughed then, shaking his head. "I assume not so candid that you're going to tell Eamon what you've decided, Your Majesty?"

Cool blue eyes regarded the bann limpidly. "I have not made my decision yet. I told Lord Cousland that I would give him an answer in the morning. Which is when you will learn it as well."


	10. Chapter 10

Thanks to spectre4hire, anime/videogame freak, none, JadeOokami, mike, Gemini1179, Shinkansen-and anyone else who reviews, since I'm posting the follow-up so soon.

* * *

><p>Corin went upstairs immediately upon his return, to find Wynne sitting in an armchair by the fire knitting. Pooka was laying asleep upon a blanket close to the hearth.<p>

"Is he going to be all right?" he asked the Circle mage. The mabari, hearing his master's voice, cracked an eye open and wagged his tiny tail feebly.

"He won't be tearing throats out for the next little bit, but he should recover," she assured him. "It was a near thing and he lost a lot of blood. Give him a few days of quiet-don't take him to the Landsmeet. And we should get him some liver to eat. Morrigan did a good job of healing him. The only thing I did really was to check him over and clean him up." Pooka was blood-free and looking quite pristine, Corin noted, though still a little damp.

"He really does hate it when you get the soap out, Wynne."

"I consider it a public service." The old enchantress smiled an evil smile. "And it's not often that he can't get away from me. When he put up a fuss, I knew he was going to be all right." She looked Corin up and down. "You could use some soap yourself."

"I'm going to work on that in a few minutes. Thank you, Wynne." She rolled her knitting up into a bag she kept for that purpose and got to her feet.

"You're very welcome, Corin. I think I'll go down and see if they kept anything warm from dinner. Are you going to do the same, or would you like me to have them send a plate up?"

"I'll eat up here. Would you mind telling them?"

"Not at all."

She departed and he set to taking his gore-caked armor off, laying it on a section of bare stone floor in the corner in preparation for cleaning. He'd gotten enough dirty looks from the maids that he didn't want to be the cause of any more carpet cleaning. There was one maid in particular he'd noticed, who seemed to spend her whole day going over the carpets thread by thread, examining them intently for any stains or the least bit of debris.

"How's Pook?" Alistair asked, strolling into the room. He also rated a tail wag from the mabari.

"Wynne says he's going to be all right, though he's out for the Landsmeet." Corin looked at his Warden brother and grinned ruefully. "Sorry about the interruption."

"Maker, that doesn't matter! We had time enough to have _some_ fun. I'm just glad the three of you are all right."

"Even Morrigan?" Corin asked.

"Even Morrigan. Can't stand her myself, but I know she's important to you. Speaking of which, she says she's going flying this evening, so I might…stay in Leli's room, if that's all right with you."

Corin bent over to examine his armor and hide his smile. "That's fine with me. I'm just going to get this cleaned up, get a bath and some food and see if I can sleep."

"I was out like a snuffed candle after Leli and I were done, before you woke me up," Alistair said, with what could only be described as a _cocky_ grin. "Maybe you should be having a bit more 'fun' yourself."

"Not currently possible," Corin said, straightening up and shrugging. "It wouldn't be politic for me to go to The Pearl now and somehow I think that even if the Queen does say yes, she's not going to volunteer me a lullaby."

Alistair shuddered. "I don't see how you can face it, Corin, the idea of sleeping with her. She scares me."

"Oh, Anora's not so bad as all that. She's rather nice once you get to know her."

"Maybe to really clever people like you she's nice. People like me, not so much. I told you that my male parts just want to draw up and hide when she's around. That hasn't changed."

"Well then it's fortunate you're not the one contemplating marriage to her."

"It could still come up." The two young men regarded each other somberly for a moment, silently acknowledging the possibility that one or both of them might not survive the ending of the Blight. Then Alistair clapped his Warden brother on the shoulder.

"You've had a really rotten night, and all because of me. How about you ring for your bath and I'll clean your armor for you while you wash up?"

"That would be really great, Alistair. Thank you." Corin scrubbed at his eyes wearily. "Wynne was going to send my supper up. Shall I have the maid bring yours as well?"

"That would be great. It'll be like old times, when it was just you and me sitting around the campfire cleaning our armor at night."

"It was never just you and me. In the beginning it was you and me and Morrigan."

"Quit that! I'm editing my memories to make them more palatable. Don't contradict."

* * *

><p>Anora was leaving the dining room when she saw the Wilder witch coming down the stairs. Morrigan had divested herself of her armor and was back in one of her skimpy ensembles. She favored the Queen of Ferelden with the merest inclination of her head as she passed, walked three steps beyond her, then stopped suddenly and turned on her heel. Golden eyes like a hawk's skewered Anora where she stood.<p>

"Corin will make you happy, if you let him," the witch said.

Resisting the urge to snap that her love life was none of Morrigan's business, Anora asked instead, "Did he make you happy?"

The witch's eyes grew distant. "Yes. For as long as I dared let him." In an abrupt change of subject, she added, "You might want to close the door when I am gone."

"You're not going out again tonight, are you? After what happened earlier?"

"You needn't worry. No one will be able to touch me." Without further ado, or any acknowledgement of Anora's rank whatsoever, Morrigan resumed her progress to the front door.

_I am hardly __**worried**__, _Anora thought, but she trailed behind, curious.

When Morrigan reached the door, she threw the heavy, iron-studded wood open easily. Then a golden shimmer seemed to coalesce around her, solidifying into a white-gold light. When it faded, there was not a woman standing there any more. Instead, a large grey owl ghosted out into the night.

Anora took a step back, nonplussed. She knew something of the schools of magic that were taught in the Circle, but she didn't recollect hearing anything of shape-shifting.

_Interesting. I wonder what other sorts of odd magics are out there in Ferelden's backwaters and corners,_ her always analytical brain speculated. _That skill would be very useful for eluding Templars, if they couldn't sense the magic. _Then she thought, _He's __**slept **__with her. Is she even __**human**__?_

But human or not, Morrigan had been right about one thing. With sunset, the air had begun to cool considerably. Anora went to pull the door closed

* * *

><p>She went up to Cousland's room some time later and knocked on the door. It was opened by Alistair, who was wiping his hands upon a towel.<p>

"Oh! Your Majesty! What can I do for you?" There was a scent of leather oil in the air, by which Anora deduced he'd been working on armor.

"Is Lord Cousland in?"

"Yes, he is in, but it's twice over he's in, as in he's in but he's also in the bath." He paused to parse out what he'd just said, an obvious look of relief coming over his face as he found it coherent. She tilted her head, and heard the sounds of splashing water at the far end of the room behind the screen.

"I see. Well, thank you. Perhaps I might come by a little later…no, wait, neither of you have even had dinner yet, have you? I'll leave it for another time."

Alistair stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him.

"I know Corin would be disappointed if you didn't come back, my lady." She smiled. It was hard not to, he was so earnest and friendly. _Like Cailan. A great big puppy._

"I…haven't seen that much of you, Your Majesty," he went on, "and it never seemed the right time, but I'd like to offer my condolences on your loss."

That surprised her. "That's very kind of you, Alistair. I must say that yours is only the third such offer that felt genuine to me, though I've received any number of sycophantic ones. Allow me to offer my condolences to you as well, unless that makes you uncomfortable."

He ran his hand up into the stiff-cut brush of hair at the top of his head. "No, not uncomfortable. But even if Cailan was my half-brother, I don't pretend that it is anything like the grief you must be feeling. You knew him your whole life, after all. So you lost a friend as well as a husband."

"That's very insightful of you."

"Yes, well insight's bound to strike once or twice a year, even for me." Cailan's half-brother said with a deprecating grin. It was actually Maric's grin, not Cailan's, the Queen realized. Oh, the similarities were there, in the shape of the face and nose and mouth particularly, but the coloring was different. Up close, both the similarities and differences were more obvious. Alistair was more a different version of Maric than he was a copy of Cailan. She wasn't sure if she was comforted or disappointed by that.

"How is the mabari? Pooka, isn't it? That is what I actually came upstairs to find out."

"Pooka? He's going to be fine. Just a little under the weather for a few days. Corin will be pleased you asked."

"You and Lord Cousland have become very close over the last year, haven't you?"

"You could say that. I do know that if the Maker had ever offered to make me my perfect brother, it would be that man in there." Perhaps a little abashed at the fervor of that declaration, Alistair continued. "And I like to think that maybe I fill in a bit of empty space for him. I can't replace Fergus, of course, but maybe he doesn't feel so alone."

"I know for a fact that you're a great comfort to him," Anora said. "He speaks of you very highly." They stared at each other in mutual reassessment for a few moments, then the Queen inclined her head. "I might come back later. Thank you, Alistair."

He gave her a half bow. "Your Majesty."

* * *

><p>Anora did come back later, over an hour later, after spending the interim time trying to read. She was not sure why she felt compelled to do so, she simply did. <em>I need to speak to Cousland one more time before I decide<em>, she told herself. _More of that informed decision making._

The door to his room was ajar, spilling firelight out into the hall. She peeked around it, to find him alone, clad in another of his disreputable tunics and a pair of breeches, finishing what looked to be a huge dinner at a small table pulled over in front of the fireplace. There were two sets of plates on the table, which indicated Alistair had probably kept him company, but the other Warden was gone now. The Mabari's massive head was resting on his bare foot, but it lifted when the dog sensed her. Cousland looked over at the door as well, and started to rise from his chair when he saw her.

"Your Majesty."

"Sit. Sit. I know better than to come between a Grey Warden and his food."

"Alistair said you'd come by earlier. I'm glad you came back. Pull up a chair if you'd like."

She did so, closing the door behind her and moving one of the overstuffed armchairs that was already close to the fire a little closer to the table. When she seated herself, her own foot was in close proximity to the mabari, who was regarding her with dark, dark brown eyes. She leaned over and presented her hand to him to sniff.

"Pooka, this is Anora. The Queen." It was the first time Cousland had ever used her given name and a little thrill shot down her spine. Then she realized that the introduction was to give the dog names to go with her face and scent. "Your Majesty, this is Pooka."

The mabari deliberated over the scent of her hand for a few moments, then gave it a tiny lick with just the tip of his massive tongue.

"There you go. Properly introduced," Cousland said with a smile. She refrained from wiping the hand on the arm of the chair, simply dropping it into her lap. The young Warden seemed very much a "love me, love my dog," sort of person. Anora had never particularly cared for pets and she suspected that if she had, they would have been cats. But mabari were hardly pets. She was, she realized, being introduced to the family.

"He looks much better than when you carried him in here earlier," she noted.

"He's a lot cleaner, at the very least," Cousland said. "I have Wynne to thank for that."

When Wynne was named, Pooka made a grumbling sigh and dropped his head back onto Cousland's foot. The Warden chuckled and took up his fork once more.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" he asked, indicating his plate.

"I'm sure. From the sound of things, you put in a hard day's work tonight."

"If there had been just a couple more, I don't know if I'd be sitting here talking to you," he admitted wryly. A surprisingly sharp pang shot through Anora at that statement.

"You weren't hurt, were you?"

"A little." He set the fork down and shoved the sleeve of the somewhat baggy tunic up his sword arm to show her a red scar near the elbow. "This and a cracked rib. Potions took care of them. Thanks for asking, though." Cousland then took his fork up again and ate the last bit of his roast beef before asking, "Was there something in particular you wanted to see me about?"

"Actually, yes. Aside from seeing if Pooka was all right, I wanted to ask you what your plans were for the Landsmeet."

"Ah. I wondered when we'd come to that." He set the fork down, rose, and actually picked the small table up carefully, dishes and all, to move it off to the side. Then he moved his own chair closer to the fire and hers and sat back down. "The plan is that Alistair and I will go in the front entrance together, most likely with Morrigan and Sten. The arl wants you to slip into the chamber from the side entrance. He'll have a large escort of his men with you and I'm sending Shale, Oghren, Leliana and Wynne with you as well. Zevran will be scouting, so he'll be with you, but I doubt you'll actually see him." She raised an eyebrow at that and he grinned. "Antivan Crows of Zev's caliber are very sneaky."

"And how exactly _did_ you come to have a Crow in your retinue?"

"That's an easy one. Your father hired him to kill me."

"Surely my father wouldn't…"

"I suspect Howe did the actual arranging, but your father certainly did sign off on it. After Zevran failed in his attempt to kill me, I interrogated him and he said that he had spoken to your father in Denerim and that he was the one who wanted me dead. Well, me and Alistair. He'd been contracted to kill the last living Wardens."

"I am sorry, for what that is worth," Anora said.

Cousland shrugged. "It's hardly your fault and it worked out well in the end. Zevran obviously failed. By chance, we were able to take him alive and afterwards he offered to leave the Crows and join me. He didn't have much to lose-as far as the Crows were concerned, he was a dead man already for failing to kill me. They don't have much use for failure. I, on the other hand, thought he might be useful, so I took him up on his offer."

"And you trust him?"

"Yes. When the rest of the cell came after me, he stood at my side and fought them."

"The cell of Crows that were found in a back alley recently?"

"Yes. That was them."

"Aren't you afraid they'll send more?"

"Not at all. I'm on very good terms with one of the guild masters. We collaborated on a couple of mutual problems."

"You…_assassinated_ people for the Crows?" That hardly seemed in character.

"Not exactly. They were straight-up fights, with people who were working for your father. The guild master had been hired to do them, but they weren't really his sort of thing and according to him, he had more work than he could handle. '_Lots_ of people not getting along,'" Cousland said in an Antivan accent.

In his own voice, he continued. "Straight-up fights _are _my sort of thing, and they were people I'd have been happy to kill anyway. He said if I took care of them for him, he'd see that the Crows wouldn't accept any more contracts on me. Your father's contract had been arranged before our agreement was in place, so he couldn't stop that. Since I survived it, I'm safe enough from the Crows." Another flashing grin. "The darkspawn and the Archdemon are, of course, another matter entirely."

"What do you intend to do about my father?"

The grin vanished as quickly as it had come and he was Master Diffidence once more. "That rather depends upon what happens at the Landsmeet. I _think_ I've got enough votes to force him to step down from the Regency. I could be wrong."

"And if he resigns his position?"

"Then he goes into the Tower until we fix the Blight. Afterwards…well, afterwards really depends upon who is alive afterwards, doesn't it?"

"He is a great strategist. He could be useful."

Cousland frowned. "I mean no offense to you, my lady, when I say I've been profoundly unimpressed with both his strategic abilities and his loyalty to date, at Ostagar and afterwards. I won't have him on any battlefield I'm on. I can't trust him, and perhaps you shouldn't either." He leaned back in his chair and sighed, his eyes hooded.

"I'm going to tell you something and you may choose to believe it or not. I know that the timing will make it suspect, but I do ask you to remember that I've been absolutely honest with you so far."

"Go on."

"As you may know, the Wardens had three ancient treaties-with the Circle, the Dalish Elves and the Dwarves. I decided to pursue the one with the Dwarves first, so my people and I headed into the Frostback Mountains. When we reached the gates of Orzammar, we found them closed. King Endrin had died, and the dwarves were in the middle of some profound civil unrest, due to the two warring factions competing for the throne. They weren't letting anyone in until the matter of the succession was settled."

Cousland's brow furrowed. "An emissary of your father's was there when we arrived. Some bleater named Imrek. Do you know who I'm talking about?"

Anora nodded, remembering a pallid, distastefully sycophantic man in her father's circle of supporters.

"He was at the gates of Orzammar, demanding entrance. He wanted in so that he could speak to the Assembly and demand their allegiance to 'King Loghain'."

"_King _Loghain?"

"That's right. _Not_ Regent Loghain, or Regent Loghain and Queen Anora. You were never mentioned. _King _Loghain. No Landsmeet had been called that I had heard of, to ratify your father's claim to the throne. But there this Imrek was, bleating about how he was '_King_ Loghain's appointed messenger' and that '_King_ Loghain insisted upon the deshyrs' allegience.' When I showed up, the bleating turned to how 'the Grey Wardens are the sworn enemies of _King_ Loghain!' and the dwarves needed to arrest me."

"Did they?"

"Of course not. Did I mention how unimpressed I was with your father's statecraft? You don't send someone like Imrek to treat with the dwarves. If you can get your hands on a Grey Warden and convince him to be political instead of neutral, you send him."

"Why?"

"Because Grey Wardens are _special_. We kill darkspawn. Dwarves kill darkspawn. There's commonality there. We're _buddies_."

Seeing how well Cousland got along with the drunken dwarf, Anora could well believe that. "Perhaps Father was hoping the dwarves would kill Imrek," she suggested.

Cousland grinned. "Or perhaps he just wanted him out of earshot! In any event, the dwarves didn't have to kill Imrek, because I did. After which the gatekeeper thanked me kindly for the favor and let me into Orzammar." He sobered. "Your Majesty, you may believe me or not, but please remember that this was _months _ago. You're an intelligent lady. Put the pieces together and see what they add up to yourself."

He slid his foot carefully out from under Pooka's head, got to his feet and began to pace.

"My father, who is Ferelden's other teyrn and your father's only serious competition for the throne and his entire family are slain, days before Ostagar. Then your father betrays Cailan and he is killed. Your father is named Regent. My father's reputation is ruined with accusations of treason and collaboration with the Orlesians. Being dead, he's hardly in a position to defend himself against the charges, now is he? He and his heirs are divested of Highever and it is given to Howe." There was a muscle jumping in Cousland's jaw though his voice was, as ever, calm. Anora could see it from where she sat.

"I think there are a couple of reasons for that.. The first is because your father is not absolutely certain Fergus is dead and he doesn't want him showing back up and opposing him in the Landsmeet. The son of an attainted traitor is no threat. The second is because he needs to justify Howe's attack, make it out to be something other than the unjustified, merciless _massacre _thatit was. There may be people who suspect the truth, but when they see what happened to Bryce Cousland and his family, they're not going to speak up. In the same time frame, he has Arl Eamon poisoned, removing his other major obstacle."

Cousland turned on his heel to face her. "So now he's got the throne. And he's got you to bolster his claim. Only he's got bigger ambitions than regent. Some of his toadies know that and begin acting as if it's already fact."

"_Could_ Imrek have been making assumptions?" Anora asked, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"I suppose so. But if Imrek _was_ making assumptions, then he was certainly too stupid to be sent as a diplomat on a sensitive mission to a foreign power. There aren't many humans before the gates of Orzammar and the ones that are, aren't usually of a social status to influence Fereldan politics. There was no way your father could have expected _me _to intercept his messenger. I think Imrek was told to address the dwarves as a King's emissary, because a King rates more respect than a mere regent. And because your father expected to be King in short order anyway."

Anora rubbed her temple. Cousland returned to his chair and dropped back into it. Pooka lifted his head and laid it back upon his master's foot again. The young Warden bent over to ruffle his ears.

"I wonder sometimes, how much Cailan knew about this," she said softly. "I've always assumed he was taken by surprise."

Cousland sat back up, elbows on knees and stared into the fire. "I don't have a definite answer for that one. I don't think anyone ever will. I brought you back everything from the arms chest-there certainly wasn't a journal or letter or anything to indicate Cailan had reservations about your father's loyalty or was less than confident. But he may have known more than you think."

'Why do you say that?"

"The King greeted Duncan personally when he returned with me to Ostagar. I was standing right beside Duncan when he asked Cailan to send for Arl Eamon and the Redcliffe men before he attacked. He told Cailan that the arl could be at Ostagar within the week and Cailan refused, saying that Eamon just wanted to share the glory. The King spoke of the battles that they'd already fought and the easy victories they'd gained. He seemed very confident. Foolishly over-confident, I thought and told Duncan as much. He agreed with me. But…"

"But what?"

"But Elric Maraigne told me as he lay dying that 'despite his bravado, even Cailan knew that there would be no victory at Ostagar.' And Elric was very close to the King."

"Yes, he was," Anora said with a frown. "I was not overmuch happy to hear that he'd deserted Cailan."

"He paid all the price for that he could."

"True enough, I suppose. Maker grant him grace."

"I did some asking around when I first got into the camp," Cousland continued. "As you might imagine, I was more than a little suspicious given what had happened to my family and wanted to find out everything I could about the current situation. I even requested an audience with your father."

Anora was surprised. "You did?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I? I needed all the help I could get. Teyrn Loghain on my side would be a great ally."

"What did Father say?"

"He knew who I was of course. It wasn't the first time we'd met, though I was fourteen the last time I'd seen him. It was a pleasant enough conversation. He assured me that Cailan would see that I got justice and we discussed Grey Warden history. He talked a bit about how Cailan was obsessed with the Wardens and he was trying to make him see reason. All very innocuous." Cousland twined his fingers together, steepled the two index fingers and leveled them in Anora's direction.

"_But-_one of Cailan's guards told me that he'd been arguing with your father, loudly and often, and that it was about you. One of your father's guards also mentioned the arguments, though he said nothing about the subject."

"Do you think Father knew about Eamon's campaign to have me set aside?"

Cousland dropped his hands and nodded. "That's the most likely explanation. And a more than adequate motive. And there's something else that was odd_. _I was included in the last strategy meeting before the battle began. By the King's express command."

"Why ever would Cailan have invited _you_? I mean no offense, of course."

"None taken. I quite agree with you-why indeed? There we all were; Warden-Commander Duncan, Teyrn Loghain, the Revered Mother, Uldred the Senior Enchanter, King Cailan-and The Newest Junior Warden of No Importance Whatsoever. Duncan told me of the command right after I'd woken up from my Joining. I asked Duncan why the king wanted me and he had no answer for me. But it was a _royal_ command, so I joined them as soon as I'd washed up and was reasonably steady on my feet."

"What did Cailan say? Did he seem in good spirits?" Anora asked a little wistfully. Her father had had plenty to say about the late King, about his obsession with the treacherous Wardens, about his recklessness and disregard for his duty. It may have been accurate, but it was hardly comforting. Cousland was apparently the only other person still alive who had seen her husband in his last hours.

"He seemed in very good spirits. He congratulated me on my Joining. I don't think he realized that I was the only one of three to survive."

"Maker! Do that many potential Wardens _die_?" Anora was appalled, though she could certainly understand why the Grey Wardens were so secretive about their rituals, if they were that deadly.

"I don't think so. They only lost one when Alistair Joined and I think sometimes they don't lose anybody at all. The overall average is probably pretty small. Though it does explain why the Wardens tend to recruit the desperate with nothing to lose. Salves the recruiter's conscience, if nothing else. I gather Duncan was a thief before he became a Grey Warden, and so was one of the men at my Joining. They pluck Warden candidates off the gallows all the time. And I've already told you about the bargain that made me a Warden." Cousland gave her a rueful smile.

"But enough of that. Sore subject, as you know. As I said, the King seemed in very good spirits. Your father gave him a lecture upon attending to reality rather than legends, and some rather pointed commentary about _not _risking himself down with the Wardens_._"

"Why would he discourage Cailan from doing that, if he planned to betray him…" Anora mused, then paled a little. "Unless…"

"Unless what?" the young Warden asked, his eyes intent upon her.

"My father and I used to discuss his frustrations with Cailan. And I told him that the problem was that Cailan was stubborn and would dig his heels in if he thought he were being forced to do something. That the best way to get Cailan to do something you wanted him to do was by misdirection."

"Push for exactly the opposite of the outcome you want?"

"It used to work for me."

"So he was goading Cailan into fighting with the Wardens by telling him not to?" Anora nodded.

Cousland looked thoughtful. "It's also possible that your father still hadn't made his mind up about betraying Cailan. That he was leaving it up to Fate, as it were. If Cailan had heeded him and done as he asked, perhaps he'd have stayed and fought."

"And then called Howe to account for Highever?" Anora was skeptical. "It's awfully even-handed of you to give him the benefit of the doubt, Lord Cousland, but I don't know. As much as I'd like to excuse my father, he's usually not that indecisive once he's set upon a course of action."

"Well, whatever his intentions, Cailan wasn't much pleased and got huffy, told your father to show his strategy. We discussed everyone's positions and the timing of the flanking attack, and how it would start when the beacon in the Tower of Ishal was lit. Senior Enchanter Uldred wanted to signal with magic instead, but the Revered Mother nixed that idea. Your father said he had men stationed in the tower to do the task, but Cailan said we needed our best people on something so crucial and he looked across the table at me and said that Alistair and I would go. Your father got a little snarky about Cailan putting too much faith in Wardens at that point, but the king held his ground."

"It was supposed to be a safe posting. One of the safest on the field, from the sound of things," Anora mused.

"Exactly. No one could anticipate that the darkspawn would tunnel up under the Tower and break in. He was putting us out of harm's way."

"To save his only heir and what might be Highever's only heir as well?"

"That's what I think. After all, Fergus hadn't returned from the Wilds as expected." Cousland gazed into the fire for a moment, before turning his gaze back to Anora.

"I didn't know who Alistair was at that point in time. But I did know that Duncan had kept him from the earlier battles and he was very frustrated about it. So I told the king that if it wasn't particularly dangerous, I could go do it by myself. I figured that maybe then Alistair could get into the fight. And Cailan looked me straight in the eye and said very firmly, 'No. I want both of you to go.'"

"Which indicated to you that he was trying to tell you something else."

Cousland nodded. "Why call me to the meeting just to tell me that? It was a simple order, nothing important enough to warrant my presence there. He could have relayed his decision via Duncan. And he _didn't _ask Alistair to come to the meeting-probably knew he'd have a fight on his hands."

"Do you think he was trying to tell you Alistair was important?"

"That's the most likely answer. Or maybe it was just that he was trying to communicate to me that he hadn't forgotten his promise to see justice done for my family. But I have wondered from time to time if there wasn't something else. He called me to the meeting, let me see the strategy that had been decided upon-then sent me to what he believed to be was safety."

Anora's eyebrows went up. "A witness. A _teyrn's son _as witness."

"Exactly. If Cailan knew more than he was letting on, then that's a possibility."

"And he didn't send for Eamon, because Eamon had the next largest army after my father's and he was trying to leave something in reserve."

"Possibly. But there's no real way to know until we go to the Maker's side and ask him."

"Will you put forward what you know about the battle at the Landsmeet?"

Cousland leaned back against his chair and closed his eyes for a moment. "I'm not entirely sure, but I don't think so. I wasn't in a position to actually observe the battle itself and I've got enough other evidence to confront your father with, evidence that's a lot more difficult to dispute."

"And what happens if my father won't step down?" The question was softly spoken, but it was the hard question, the question Anora had been waiting for the opportunity to ask.

He didn't hesitate. She had thought that surely he must, or would make swift promises of mercy in an effort to gain her support. Instead, his head turned, his eyes bored into hers and his voice when he spoke had that chilling diffidence.

"Then one of us doesn't leave the Landsmeet alive. And I won't lie and promise that even if he does step down he will live, Your Majesty. If we stop the Blight and he's in prison, then the day will come when he must _answer _for what he has done and allowed to be done in his name. To Cailan. To me and all my family, including my _seven-year-old_ nephew. To Eamon. To Alfstanna. To Sighard. To all the king's men and Wardens who died at Ostagar, and to his own men, whose lives he spared at the expense of their honor. To all the broken families in the Alienage. He must answer."

"I…see. Well, that is certainly honest at least, Lord Cousland." She got to her feet and he rose as well. "I give you good evening."

"And to you, Your Majesty," he said, politely showing her to the door. He said nothing more and his expression was unreadable.

* * *

><p>Anora went back to her rooms, only to be confronted by a scolding Erlina, who subjected her to an Orlesian-accented rant upon propriety. "You were in hez bedroom! Alone! For a very long time! What vill people think?"<p>

"I really don't _care_, Erlina!" Anora snapped. "I think Ferelden has more important things to worry about than whether I'm warming my bed without even mourning my husband for a year. Now go draw me a bath!"

Later, soaking in the hot, perfumed water, she pondered her choices. To betray Cousland, Alistair and Eamon. To marry Alistair. To marry Cousland.

_Eamon would back a marriage to Alistair. Would he do so if I chose Cousland? Possibly-he owes the man his life and the life of his family. But he'd probably prefer Alistair, given that he can influence him._

_As for Father…whether I believe everything Cousland told me or not, the plain fact is that he pushed me aside the moment he became Regent, despite his assertion that he would only be commanding the armies while I dealt with all else. I can't number the times he and Howe were conferring, only to fall silent when I walked in. And if he does intend to be crowned, what does he think he is going to __**do**__? He is not a young man. He would have to marry again to produce heirs and there I'd be, dowager queen. Not much of a change from Cousland and Eamon finding a different wife for Alistair and setting me aside._

_Given the choice between ruling despite Alistair or ruling beside Cousland, I know which I would choose._

She found Corin Cousland physically attractive and mentally acute. She enjoyed their conversations. He had gathered together the most diverse group of associates she had ever seen, beings of all backgrounds and temperaments, united them and welded them into a formidable weapon by sheer force of personality. Certainly a useful skill for a king to have. He had arguably accomplished more for the good of Ferelden in the last year than Cailan had accomplished in his entire reign. And what she had seen this evening could be called by only one name-integrity.

_But if I chose him, then my father is most likely going to die._

She pondered until the water in the bath grew cold, and Erlina chivvied her out of it and into bed.

* * *

><p>Alistair returned to the room in the morning to find his Warden brother sound asleep on the floor by the hearth, curled around his mabari, a blanket thrown over them both. A pile of books on the small table, which had been pulled back over by the chair, indicated a late night. He smiled. The nights where Corin woke him with nightmares outnumbered the nights he woke Corin by almost two to one. It was rare indeed that Corin slept as soundly as he was doing now, usually rousing at the least sound in his proximity. Now he was oblivious.<p>

_Is that a snore I hear?_

There was a knock at the door. Upon opening it, he discovered the Queen's maid, Erlina and a couple of package-laden footmen out in the hall.

"I have some things here for Lord Cousland. From the Queen," she said imperiously.

"I'll take them," Alistair said at once. "He's still asleep and I don't want to disturb him. I'll be sure to tell him when he wakes."

Erlina did not look happy about that, but Alistair was capable of an amiable obstinacy that could be difficult to resist. He accepted the first, bulkier package and knew what it was immediately. Laying it upon the bed, he came back for the second, then thanked the footmen and Erlina and shut the door.

His stomach was growling most angrily. So he only took a moment to fold back the fabric and admire the way the morning light hit the objects within before he set off downstairs to get breakfast.

It took two rashers of bacon, a half dozen eggs and some other oddments to lay his appetite to rest. When he came back, Corin was awake, standing by the bed and brushing a hand lightly over the gilded dragonbone of Cailan's armor and the scabbard of Maric's sword, both of them glimmering in the strengthening light from the window. He looked pensive.

"I still don't claim to know anything about women," Alistair said with a grin. "But from where I'm standing, that looks like a yes."


	11. Chapter 11

Many thanks to mille libri, anime/videogame freak, almost insane, apm, Mike, Maben00, none, lazyguy90, spectre4hire, and Gemini1179 for your kind words! This chapter went in an unexpected direction. I couldn't see Corin and Anora falling into bed together, but they wouldn't let the idea entirely alone...

* * *

><p>"I still don't claim to know anything about women," Alistair said with a grin. "But from where I'm standing, that looks like a yes."<p>

Corin looked around at him and the pensive expression was replaced by a small smile. "I suspect you're right. Want to help me try this out? Nothing like the other day, you understand-I woke up stiff from fighting last night."

"Laying on a stone floor with Pooka while letting a perfectly good bed go to waste didn't have anything to do with it, of course."

"Of course. Are you in or aren't you? Just a workout to loosen me up?"

"Sure."

"And here. You try this." Maric's sword was offered to Alistair. He shook his head in refusal.

"That's the King's sword."

"The 'King's sword' is whichever sword the King happens to fancy and use. And I happen to fancy Starfang. Just try it, Alistair."

"And I happen to have a sword I like perfectly well," Alistair said, patting the hilt of Duncan's blade, a mulish glint in his hazel eyes. Corin sighed.

"Look. It's your father's sword and I feel like you're the only person who has the right to it," he said earnestly. "I'm not going to use it. But if the balance is wrong for you, I won't say another word about it. We'll set it away and it can be the Sword of State."

"You could always give it to Zevran. Didn't he say he thought it was a sexy sword?"

"Zevran is not getting this blade. Either you wield it, or no one does."

"Oh, all right. I'll give it a go." The agreement was less than gracious, but that was to be expected, given Alistair's issues about his father. "Let me help you get into this."

Their arming was accomplished mostly in silence. Alistair finished first, since his suit needed no adjustments. He then helped Corin tighten or loosen straps on the golden armor until a good fit was achieved. When they were done, Alistair looked at Corin and whistled.

"Well there you go. You're definitely Shimmer Boy now. How does it feel?"

Corin twisted, turned, wriggled his shoulders and did a knee bend. He looked pleased and a little surprised.

"It fits better than I expected. Cailan must have been very close to my size. I can work with this. It's Wade's work, according to the maker's mark. But it looks like when Mikhail repaired it he might have reinforced it a bit. I didn't ask him to since it was a dead man's armor, but you know Mikhail-nothing but perfection will do."

"It looks good on you." Alistair thought that it actually looked better than Corin's dragon bone. The golden color suited him and the black inlay went well with his inky hair.

Corin picked up the helm and put it on, twisting his head this way and that. He took it back off. "Let's go see how it works when push comes to shove."

They encountered no one going downstairs. Out in the courtyard, Corin asked some of Eamon's men who were working out to give them some space.

"We're using live steel, gentlemen."

That got them an interested audience and plenty of room, but Corin had no intention of doing a full-out bout as they had before. "Half speed, Alistair?"

"Sounds good." They both helmed up. Alistair pulled Maric's sword out of the scabbard and Corin saw a look of surprise come over his face. He smiled within his helm. He'd personally thought all along that Duncan's blade was not quite right for Alistair-a little too light all around and not balanced quite right for him. But Alistair had insisted on carrying it since it was found at Ostagar. Corin and Alistair were very close in what blades worked for them and Maric's sword had looked upon casual examination to be much the same size and heft as Starfang.

They started to spar and the look of surprise changed to a pleased look. After some minutes had passed and their muscles had properly loosened, Corin called for full speed, though they were not doing full contact blows. They continued in that wise long enough for both of them to get a good workout and be out of breath.

"So-does the armor work for you? Didn't look like you were having any trouble," Alistair commented as they strolled about the courtyard to cool down afterwards.

"Works as well as my dragonbone. It might even be a bit better."

"The Archdemon's not going to have any trouble finding you, that's for sure."

"Sounds good to me. How was the sword?"

Alistair's nose wrinkled. "Just fine. Like it was made for me, if you must know, and you probably already do. Bastard." Corin chuckled in response. "What do I do with Duncan's sword now?"

"I would have thought that would be obvious."

"Enlighten me, oh wise one."

"Give it and the dagger to Riordan. You've got Duncan's shield, but Riordan never got his gear back after he was imprisoned in Howe's dungeon. He wasn't in a position to. He's got some good armor now, but his weapons aren't much. He's a sword-and-dagger man and he'll be in the thick of it with us."

"And Riordan was Duncan's Joining-brother and an old friend of his," Alistair said thoughtfully, and then smiled. "I think Duncan would have liked that very much."

"I think he would have too. And as for your sword…if things go badly tomorrow, then it's only fitting that you deal with them with Maric's blade. I know your father was an ass where you were concerned, Alistair, but he was still betrayed by Loghain, possibly worse than any of us. Loghain was his closest, most trusted friend and he betrayed Maric's son and nearly foundered the country the two of them fought so hard to save."

Alistair frowned. "You can stop trying to convince me how fitting everything is, Corin. The sword works for me better than anything else and that's all I really need to know. Everything doesn't always get to fit in tidy little packages, even for you."

Alistair knew when not to press his friend about family and Corin knew the same about Alistair. He clapped his Warden brother on the back.

"Very well then. I'm done for the day. Going to go in and wash up and get some breakfast."

Good humor restored, Alistair smirked at him. "And spend some cuddle-time with the Queen?"

"Somehow, I don't think Anora is the cuddling type. At least not without an awful lot of work first."

"Better you than me, brother. Better you than me."

* * *

><p>The house was very quiet, as if everyone seemed to realize that today was the last chance to take a breath before the storm broke. Corin's companions were scattered about Eamon's manor, engaging in their own private pursuits. The knock at Anora's door came halfway through the morning.<p>

"Eet ez _Heem_," Erlina declared, after opening it and closing it back in Corin's face. From what Anora was able to gather, she had been offended by the way Anora's gift had been received by his Warden brother.

"Let. Him. In. Erlina," Anora said in the meaningfully quiet voice that said she would brook no disobedience. The maid did so, with a sniff.

"Good morning, Your Majesty, Erlina," Cousland said, apparently not offended in the least by Erlina's behavior. He was clad in the good blue suit and looked quite fresh and lively. At Anora's decisive jerk of the head towards the bedroom, the maid departed.

"Good morning, Lord Cousland. I watched your workout this morning from the dining room. Does the armor suit you?"

"It does. Rather better than I expected, if you must know. There isn't going to be any adjustment necessary. For me at least. Are _you_ all right?" he asked with a genuinely concerned look. "You didn't have to do that. I meant it to be yours as a remembrance of Cailan. And if it is too distressing for you, I will give it back."

She closed her eyes for a long moment to consider. The sympathy had slid beneath her defenses like a dagger. Her father had never once stopped to consider in the months since Cailan's death that she might actually mourn her husband, even if it had been a political marriage. Loghain's attitude had been one of good riddance to a spoiled, vainglorious boy. But there were days and nights when she did miss Cailan.

Cousland waited in a patient silence most unusual for a man of his scant years. At last, she opened her eyes and asked, "Is it better than what you have?"

"Yes. Mikhail did a great job of repairing it and he reinforced it while he was about it."

"Then keep it, though I thank you for the thought. It was a new suit, you see, commissioned specifically for the campaign. So it had no long associations with Cailan. If you keep it long enough, I am sure I will in time come to think of it as yours, not his."

Cousland came to the sofa where she was sitting and knelt before her. His big, warm hand closed around hers, which felt a little chilled. "And will you be able in time to think of yourself as mine, not his?" he asked softly. "I'm not misreading your intentions, am I?"

"No, you have not," she said, savoring the touch. "I will wed with you, Lord Cousland, and we will rule together as King and Queen, Maker willing." Her voice was firm.

That pleased smile came over his face. "Under the circumstances, do you think you could bring yourself to call me Corin?"

"I could. And you may call me Anora."

"Anora," he said, trying it out, and the timbre of it sent a shiver through her. He looked up at her ruefully.

"I will own that I am ill-prepared for this. I don't have a ring yet."

The corner of her mouth curled up. "You are, by all accounts, an acquisitive fellow. A positive genius at raising funds, 'tis said. I'm sure you'll loot something suitable soon."

He laughed. "I'll make a point of it! At least of looting something that can be melted down to make a ring for you. You should have something special." She inclined her head graciously.

"We should not advertise it just yet in any event."

"You're right about that," he agreed, then the smile transmuted to a wicked grin. "My lady, do you wish anything of me today? I am at your disposal. My intention was to stay close to home, as it were, until the morrow. One of Eamon's men who is a limner is repainting my shield with Highever arms and that was the only errand I had today."

Anora looked down at him and pondered for a moment. Intending to suggest that they simply talk a bit more and get to know one another better, she was startled to hear herself say, "I want to see you with your shirt off."

Corin's eyebrow shot up. "Truly?"

"Yes."

"Very well then. As my lady commands." He got to his feet with panther-like grace. From watching him fight, Anora knew him to be that dangerous exception to the rule, a big man who was nonetheless fast. Unbuckling his sword belt, he set the weapon gently on the table.

"I noticed that you gave Alistair Maric's sword," Anora said. Fingers busy with the hooks at his throat, Corin shot her an apologetic look.

"I am sorry if that offends you, Anora. But it was Maric's blade. I didn't feel I had the right to it. He is the only person who truly does. I was going to keep it as the Sword of State if he couldn't use it, but it apparently suits him." The collar hooks were loose, and his hands, remarkably deft for their size, were working swiftly down the front of the doublet.

"Cailan never used it. He had a sword that suited him better."

"I was surprised to hear that it was still in the arms chest, in truth. Elric Maraigne said that Cailan intended to use it to kill the archdemon. But that surely can't be right. You don't pick up a sword that doesn't suit you for the biggest battle of your life, unless you don't have any other choice."

"_You_ don't, perhaps. Cailan tended toward the romantic rather than the practical a great deal of the time," Anora said. "He had this ballad running through his head of what his life should be and Maker forfend that reality intrude." She looked down at the blade on the table curiously. "This is the sword that was made for you, I assume?"

The hooks down the front of the doublet were now all undone and he was working on the closures at his wrists. Corin nodded.

"Ys, that's Starfang. A fellow named Mikhail Dryden made her for me."

"Dryden? As in _Sophia_ Dryden?"

"Yes. He and his brother Levi are her descendents. Great-great grandchildren, if I recollect correctly. Levi's a merchant and Mikhail is one of the best smiths I've ever seen. Wade's equal in a different way, I think, though don't tell Wade that. Wade is an _artiste, _as the Orlesians say. Smithing's more of a religion for Mikhail and he's a devotee."

"How did you come to meet the Drydens?"

"Levi came to me, said that Duncan had promised him to look into the matter of Soldier's Peak. Levi knew where it was. He wanted to know the true story of what had happened to Sophia and in return, he was willing to give the Peak back to the Wardens." Corin pulled the doublet off and draped it carefully over the back of the couch. Then he started on his shirt laces.

"Soldier's Peak is a legend."

"No, Soldier's Peak was a very large, very decrepit castle that was filled with shades and demons and the animated corpses of Wardens and Arland's men. Now it's a not-so-decrepit castle filled with Drydens. They're using it as storage for their business, the Wardens not really needing it at present, except for a bit of storage for themselves.."

Anora shook her head in disbelief. "Is there _anyone _in the kingdom you don't know personally? I'll save what happened to Sophia for another time. I assume you found out?"

Corin nodded. "I did."

"What about this sword of yours?"

"Well, we were on our way back to the Peak, around the northern tip of Lake Calenhad one day when we came across this huge, smoking hole in the ground. I'd never seen the like. I ventured down into it and at the very center, at the bottom, there was this large lump of what looked to be ore of some kind. Mikhail had said that if I brought him the right ores, he could make me weapons and armor, so after it cooled down, I roped that thing up and hauled it all the way back to the Peak on my back. Sten and Alistair thought I'd lost my mind. Oghren thought it might not be a bad idea." He finished opening the shirt collar and started on the wrists.

"When I showed the lump to Mikhail, he was astounded. He said that it was star metal, that it had fallen from the sky."

"Really? From the _sky_? A piece of a _star_? That seems…unlikely."

"That's what he told me. That it happens, but usually only in little bits that we can't even find. The hole was made from the force it struck the ground with, falling from such a great height. You could have parked a wagon in that hole. Mikhail said that if I gave the ore to him, he would forge me a sword of legend." Corin paused in his disrobing to gesture to the sword. "And there it is."

"May I look?"

"Of course. Betrothal is always understood to allow fondling of the weapons."

Anora snorted. "That is hardly up to your usual level of repartee, Lord Cousland."

"Corin," he reminded her with a grin. "And my dear lady, if you open a conversation with a question about handling a man's sword, then you must be willing to take the consequences."

She suppressed a smile. That grin was contagious. "I suppose so." The scabbard was very plain, utilitarian black leather, but the sword, when she lifted it from the table and drew it out halfway, was anything but plain. Strange blue designs glowed down the blade and there was a filmy blue sheen or glow that lay over the whole weapon. From what she knew of weapons, Anora could tell this was an extraordinary sword. And the blue reminded her of Cousland's eyes when he was angry.

"It suits you," she said at last. "I can tell it's your sword just by looking."

"She's your only competition."

"'She'?"

Corin looked a little sheepish. "Starfang has always seemed like a 'she' to me."

"I am told that sailors refer to ships as 'she', so why not swords?" Anora mused. "It is perhaps fitting that men regard the most important tools in their workaday lives as women." She gave her newly betrothed a pointed look. "That shirt is still on, my lord."

"So it is. Let me rectify that." He pulled the garment off over his head in one smooth motion. Anora stared.

Cailan had been a well-built man, with the build that came from a noble's obligatory weapons practice and spare time spent hunting and doing other active, courtly pursuits. Corin was a well-built man who had also started with that same build, but then had honed it by a year of continuous fighting and walking from one end of Ferelden to the other, up mountains and down, sometimes on short rations. There was not an ounce of fat on him, and the difference between the skin on his face and hands and the rest of him was not as marked as it might have been. He'd obviously spent some time with his shirt off in the warmer months.

_And perhaps more than that,_ Anora thought, her cheeks heating as she envisaged him totally naked, bathing in a lake. She got to her feet and stepped in, running a gentle finger down the hard muscle of his chest and abdomen. There was hair there, but not much, a sparse, silky, dark fur that trailed down from below his chest to vanish beneath his breeches. Cailan had actually been hairier, but hadn't seemed so except to the touch, the golden blonde hairs vanishing against his skin. Corin sucked in an audible breath, but held perfectly still.

"Touch if you like," he invited and she did, running her hands over his shoulders and down the outsides of his arms, fondling belly and chest. He turned around when she bade him do so and she found the muscles on his back equally intriguing. She spent some time exploring them and rubbing the back of his neck, which he obviously enjoyed.

"Turn back around," she commanded. Corin hesitated.

"You might want to let me put the shirt back on now," he said without turning around. "Unless you had further plans for me this morning you've not yet told me about."

For one brief, blinding moment she considered it. Then the reality of how unfulfilling sex had always been for her cooled her ardor. "Oh. I see. No, no plans. By all means." He reached over to the back of the sofa, caught up the shirt and pulled it over his head. Only then did he turn around, the bottom of the shirt hanging loose in concealment.

"I suppose you'd like me to reciprocate?" Anora asked a bit nervously. Corin gave her a warm smile.

"Not that I'd refuse if you really wanted to, but I told you I was at your disposal, not the other way around. And you seem a little nervous. So no, I won't ask to see your chest in return, though I'm sure it is lovely. But, if you were inclined to grant another favor…"

"What favor?"

"Would you let your hair down for me?"

"My _hair_?"

"Yes. I'd really like to see it."

"You want to see my hair…"

"Is that so surprising? It's a lovely color, but you keep it twisted up so tightly all the time that I can't really tell what it looks like."

Anora hesitated. There were reasons she kept her hair up as she did. For one thing, it was very long and keeping it up kept it tidy and untangled. For another, it lent her authority. For a third, Cailan had cursed it getting in the way often enough that she was sensitive upon the subject. Most of his mistresses had had much shorter hair than Anora's.

But it was her secret vanity, the thing she loved most about herself, her private vice. She was not a woman who cared much for frippery, though she liked to look good and knew that she had a responsibility to do so. But even though she never went out with her hair dressed in anything but the severe, braided buns, her one extravagance was an extremely expensive kind of Orlesian hair soap and rinse to keep it soft and well-conditioned, and though she'd not ever had it cut since she was a little girl, Erlina trimmed it regularly.

The evenings when she got ready for bed, the one time of day when it was all loose and brushed out, were some of her favorite times. That Corin wished to see it seemed shockingly intimate, almost more so than if he'd thrust his hand down her chemise. But she doubted that he would see it that way. He had asked something that he thought was _less_ intrusive, certainly less intrusive than what she'd asked of him. There wasn't really any gracious way to refuse.

"Of course you may see it," she said, and reached up to begin removing the pins.

"Will you let _me_ take it down?" Corin murmured. "I promise I'll be careful. Mother used to let me brush her hair when I was younger, and she was very tender-headed. One of the reasons she never had a maid."

"You do realize that mentioning your mother is unlikely to foster a romantic mood," Anora said.

"Why? You're nowhere near old enough to be in her generation."

"_Good_ save."

That lightning white grin. "Thanks. I do try." He gestured towards her head. "May I?"

"Very well," she said, a bit grudgingly, and turned her back to him.

She was very aware of the warm bulk of him behind her, the movement of air as his hands moved towards her hair. Tensing slightly, half expecting a rough pull or snag, Anora was surprised all over again by the contrast between the size of those large, dangerous hands and the unexpected lightness of their touch. They had obviously dealt with hairpins before, unerringly finding the bent ends in her braids and pulling them out carefully. Corin removed half a dozen, stooped to lay them on the table, then went back to it. Half a dozen more, and her braids were falling out of the buns because of their own weight. He carefully examined them, found a couple more pins, set them aside with the others, then went to work untying the tawny golden ribbons Erlina bound the ends of her braids with.

The ribbons were set on the table with the pins, then he began to gently tease her hair loose from the braids, starting at the bottom as was proper. Soon it fell in rippling swaths past her hips.

"Maker, that is lovely," Corin breathed. "It's longer than I thought it would be. Have you ever cut it?"

"No, never. You like it?" _Where did that little girl question come from? _Anora wondered, annoyed at herself, but Corin simply took it literally.

"Of course I like it. It's like spun sunlight." He lifted a lock to his nose. "And it smells good too. I noticed that the other day."

Erlina suddenly materialized beside them, unasked. She thrust Anora's hair brush into Corin's hand, then slipped silently back into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

"Do I dare take that as a sign of approval?"

"I would think so. She usually brushes my hair herself."

The brush drifted as gently over her hair as his fingers had. He spent a few minutes gently brushing down the whole length of her hair, until it lay in shining, smooth, perfect order. Anora relaxed once it was obvious he wasn't going to jerk through tangles or snag her, enjoying the feel of the bristles scraping down her back. A warm, melted feeling of contentment began to pervade her being. She could not remember the last time she'd felt so comfortable.

An arm slid gently around her from behind. The other hand moved the heavy mass of her hair away from her back, slid it carefully away from the back of her neck. Then a pair of warm lips pressed against the sensitive skin there.

The melted feeling became molten heat, flowing down her spine to pool between her legs.

She could feel the heat of Corin's breath beneath her hair, feel her knees buckle. Turning in his arms, she slid her arms up around his neck, seeking support. His lips came down on hers, gently at first; then, as her lips softened and opened beneath his, more insistent. His tongue slipped into her mouth, not thrusting as Cailan had liked to do, but exploring, coaxing. Hers, encouraged, answered in kind and for a long moment they stood there, kissing deeply. Then Corin broke it off, lips drifting up the line of her jaw to her ear.

"Just so you know," he murmured, a maddening tickle against the delicate pink shell, "When we are wed, I am going to insist on taking you by a window in the sunlight. You're going to be on top of me and this marvelous hair of yours is going to be falling loose all around us, like sunbeams." His hand slid under her hair, across her hips, then his arm tightened, pressing her against him. She could feel the outline of the pouch and the amulet against his chest, the warmth of him permeating through the fine lawn of the shirt. The bulge in his breeches was also obvious and she whimpered, pressing against it without fear for once and with an odd sense of yearning.

He shuddered and his voice suddenly deepened to a growl. "And I'm going to put my hands on your hips-" his hand slid down over her buttocks and gripped, lifting her effortlessly and completely off of the floor, pressing her up and in, "-and move you up and down on me, pressing you down hard until you come screaming my name."

White light shattered behind Anora's eyes as it had never done with Cailan. Fully clothed and vertical, she climaxed from nothing more than the pressure against Corin and the pictures his wicked words had conjured in her brain. Crying out softly, she shuddered, then sagged against him. His arm held her up for a moment longer, then slowly let her feet down onto the floor, though he did not release her weight completely, lest she fall.

"Maker, Anora, I'm sorry! That was definitely over the top."

She turned her head into his chest and murmured, "Don't you _dare _apologize! We are betrothed, after all. I am glad that you find me pleasing. I certainly find you pleasing. I am fine." She was more than fine actually, with a boneless, floating euphoria the likes of which she'd never felt before. He steered her over to the couch and lowered her onto it gently, kissed her cheek, then grabbed up his doublet and sword.

"Speaking of finding you pleasing, I am sorry but I have to leave now. While I still can. Do you understand?"

She nodded, eyes closed. "I will see you later, Corin. Tonight at dinner, if not before. Maker keep you."

"And you, my lady." She heard his footsteps retreating swiftly and the door closing behind him, then the sound of Erlina approaching. Dropping her face into her hands, Anora sought to compose herself. An odd impulse to start crying was coming over her, but it wasn't because she was sad. Relief, perhaps?

"Zis Cousland eez a man who knows his way around a woman, no?"

"I think that may be safely said, Erlina."

"How many times did I told you eet waz not entirely _your_ fault? Hees Majesty, he waz a good man, but-"

"Do _not _speak of Cailan right now, Erlina!" Not now, while the memory of recent pleasure was still upon her and the sound of Corin's growl still echoed in her ears.

"Zis young man, I theenk he will be good for you, my lady."

_If he lives through the Landsmeet. If he lives through the Blight. If he doesn't tire of me, seek someone younger…when exactly __**was**__ it that I became undone?_

"Some tea perhaps, my lady?"

"That would be lovely, Erlina."

* * *

><p>Alistair looked up from the book he was reading as Corin entered the room. His Warden brother looked both flushed and flustered, his doublet all unfastened, looking like it had been hastily thrown on over his shirt, which was untucked and hanging out. Pooka barked a welcome.<p>

"Are you all right, Corin?" he asked. "I took Pook out for you. He needed help down the stairs, but he managed the rest of it well enough. Wynne came with me, to make sure things were…working as they should. Which they are."

"Hey Pook, how are you doing?" Corin said to the mabari, pausing to pat the dog's head before moving over to the washbasin and splashing water over his face. "Thanks, Alistair. I really appreciate it. But I need to ask you for another favor. I was wondering if you could give me about half an hour alone?"

"Half an hour alone? Whatever for?" Corin bent a fulminating gaze upon him and Alistair suddenly understood. "Oho! You did get some cuddle time in with the Queen, didn't you?"

"Alistair…"

"And she cuddled you pretty good, from the look of things. Are you sure you need a _whole _half hour? Will it honestly take that long?"

"I think I liked you better when you were still a virgin," Corin muttered.

Chuckling, Alistair closed his book and got up. "I'm gone, I'm gone! I'll see you at lunch, brother!"

"You can come back before then. Just knock before you come in."


	12. Chapter 12

The response for last chapter was much more than I had ever expected! Thanks so much to both my faithful and first-time readers-Ronin Kenshin, mille libri, mutive, anime/videogramefreak, omfg, JadeOokami, Queen Nan, SkaterGirl246, Mike, Cibiripilli, Elizabeth Carter, apm, none, spectre4hire and lazyguy90. Your words inspire me!

We really will get to the Landsmeet, probably in the next chapter. Zev sort of stole part of this one. It's to be expected, I guess.

* * *

><p>Lunch looked to be much better attended than many meals had been of late at the arl's table. All of Cousland's companions were seating themselves, as well as the other Grey Warden, Riordan. Arl Eamon was glad-his cook was becoming very irritated, continually having to produce meals that were not consumed and had to be recycled into later meals that might or might not be consumed. Such a problem was trivial compared with the greater concerns the Arl was facing, but minor irritations irked worse in a time of crisis, since they were distractions from the greater matters that needed to be attended to.<p>

Cousland himself was one of the last into the room, and made his way swiftly to the chair that had been saved for him at the Queen's side. That alone gave Eamon his answer, even before Anora stood to greet him. The young Warden took her hand up in his and brushed it gently with his lips. That gesture drew the attention of everyone in the room.

Cousland then lowered his hand, though he did not let hers go and inclined his head in deference to Anora, who smiled a surprisingly warm smile.

"I have asked Lord Cousland for his hand in marriage and he has consented," she announced. "The Maker willing, if the Landsmeet should end favorably tomorrow and we defeat the Blight, then in time he will rule beside me as King of Ferelden."

Hubbub broke out. "Corin, I am so happee for you!" the bard cried, her Orlesian accent suddenly prominent. Eamon saw Cousland's gaze meet and hold the golden one of the Wilder witch for a moment. Morrigan inclined her head, as if in approval.

"Good on ya, Warden!" the dwarf exclaimed. There were other exclamations of good wishes as well, though the Qunari merely nodded as if this development had been expected.

Alistair leapt to his feet, wine glass in hand. "A toast to the happy couple!" Everyone took up their glasses.

"I know that the two of you will be good for Ferelden," he declared, his hazel eyes absolutely brimming with earnest good will. "May the Maker be good to you in turn. May you both be happy. May Ferelden enjoy years of peace and prosperity under your rule and may you have many, _many_ heirs!"

Amid the laughter and joyful toasting, Eamon finally, fully understood how badly he'd failed Maric.

* * *

><p>At Eamon's request, Corin, Alister, Teagan and Anora all gathered in his study after lunch.<p>

"I thought that we should discuss our plans for the Landsmeet all together for once," he said once they were all seated. "I know that some of us have discussed certain aspects of it with each other, but I think that we should coordinate things a little better before tomorrow. First of all-are we still in agreement that Teagan and I should precede the rest of you?"

"That works for me, sir," Corin said. "Alistair and I will enter the main doors some time after you have opened the Landsmeet, while at the same time the Queen will be slipping in through the side entrance."

"Will you need any of my men?"

"I'd like some for the Queen. Alistair and I should be all right. We'll be taking Sten and Morrigan with us. The others will be escorting the Queen."

"Which of your people will be in charge of the Queen's escort?"

"That would be Oghren." At the arl's look of surprise, Corin said, "He's actually much better at that sort of thing than you'd think."

"Very well then, I'll put my men under the dwarf's command. Your Majesty, have you any objections to the plan or anything you'd like to add?"

"Not about getting there. The next question is, of course, what we are going to try to accomplish at the Landsmeet."

"We are going to try to get the Landsmeet to vote your father out of the Regency," Corin said. Alistair looked over at his friend for a moment, as if he were going to say something, then subsided. "I think the arguments that will have the most impact are those that the nobles feel threaten them personally the most-the attack on you, my lord arl, and the capture and torture of Oswyn and Irminric. We can throw the slavery thing in there as well, if they're not sufficiently moved by the first items. Most of them don't actually care a rat's whisker about elves, but it's easy to feign outrage about such a fundamental flouting of Ferelden's law. It won't cost them anything."

"You are reasonably sure you have the votes to accomplish this?"

"I think so, my lord. I know from my times in the Gnawed Noble that many of the banns are outraged by Loghain's military push against them in a time of Blight, and many feel that if he were actually confirmed as King, he would continue to oppress them."

"You do realize that there are banns who feel themselves oppressed if you don't say 'good morning' to them in just the right tone," Anora remarked dryly. Teagan chuckled.

"Yes! Be most careful how you address me!"

Eamon shook his head, smiling, then spoke again. "And you don't want to bring up Ostagar?"

"Not unless we absolutely have to. There's too much room for argument there. Loghain can paint himself the hero, saving much of Ferelden's army out of a trap. I've spoken to enough of his men over the last few months to know that many of them sincerely believe that."

"Providing we manage to get Loghain voted down, what then?"

"Then we propose to the Landsmeet that Corin and I wed and rule co-jointly as King and Queen," Anora said. "If we succeed, then my father will be confined in the tower until after the matter of the Blight is resolved and we have time to address the charges against him."

Eamon contemplated this for a moment and found it a sound plan, except for one thing.

"And what of Alistair?"

"I don't want it, Uncle," came the swift response.

"You have a responsibility, Alistair."

Alistair leaned forward on his elbows and looked Eamon in the eye. "Yes. A responsibility not to inflict myself on the people of Ferelden! I'm a Grey Warden and my primary responsibility right now is to kill the Archdemon and end the Blight. It's really Corin's most important responsibility too. More important than all this political stuff-sorry, brother."

"Nothing to be sorry about. You're absolutely right. We just need to do some things out of order tomorrow to insure a smooth transition afterwards. And to get more men to fight the Blight."

"Alistair will have to renounce his right to the throne, for himself and his heirs," Anora said. "We risk civil war else."

"No." The voice was Corin's, to Eamon's surprise, and the tone was totally flat and non-negotiable. "He will do nothing of the kind. No offence, my lady, but if you wanted a husband who would be likely to give you children, that would not be me. And Alistair suffers under a similar handicap." Teagan did not look surprised at this. Eamon had obviously told him a few things.

"Alistair is the last of the line of Calenhad. He and his heirs have a place in the succession, particularly now." Corin gave his Warden brother a rueful smile. "Sorry if you thought you were off the hook, Alistair."

"Well I did, actually."

Corin's dark head shook in negation. "Sorry," he said again. "You know how it's going to be. You and I are going to be in the thick of things and one or both of us might not make it back. Ferelden needs a succession. So what I propose is that you are my heir. If I die-" he looked at Anora then with that diffident look of his. "My lady, I won't say that you must marry Alistair, but I think it would be for the best. If we both fall in battle, then obviously you are free to carry on as you see fit."

Anora considered for a moment. Much as she did not care for the idea of marrying Alistair and suspected that he felt much the same, Corin's plan did have undeniable merits.

"And if you both survive? Do you not fear that there are some who would seek to use him to supplant us?"

"Alistair is nowhere near as easy to use as you might think," Corin said, receiving a gratified look from his Warden brother, "And his loyalty is beyond question. If we survive, then I intend to title him."

"_What?"_ came Alistair's exclamation.

"You heard me, Alistair. You're not off the hook. I'm going to do what Maric or Cailan should have done long before. You'll have a title and I hope you'll marry a nice girl and have some children. The ideal situation would be if you and your wife and Anora and I between us managed a boy and a girl."

Light dawned on Anora. "And then we marry our heir and his together and bring the Calenhad line back onto the throne."

"Exactly."

Alistair chuckled. "More tidy little packages." He looked around the table. "You'll get used to this after a while."

"I am the _last_ person to fault Lord Cousland's planning," Eamon noted, "but that's an awful lot of ifs."

"It is, sir. But I like to have a long-range goal as well as more immediate ones. Never hurts. Speaking of which…there's something I need to do first before we broach the subject of the _royal_ succession to the Landsmeet."

"And that is?"

"I need to establish my claim to Highever."

"So that you have the status to claim Anora's hand. Yes, I see."

"You'll have to get the Landsmeet to declare the writ of attainder against Bryce null and void," Teagan said. "Which certainly works for me. That was a travesty."

"Yes, it was. And I'm sorry if it seems that I'm indulging in a personal vendetta when we should be focusing on the Blight, but this needs to be done."

Eamon shook his head. "Not at all. This is part and parcel of what needs to be done to achieve our ends."

"'Our ends', sir?'" Corin asked, his eyebrow quirking upward. Eamon sighed, but looked up and met his eyes straightly.

"I will own it is not what would have been my first choice. But I think that it would be a good choice for Ferelden. She cannot go on as she has done. As for Alistair…" he looked across the table at his foster son. "I lost all right to determine his fate when I put it into the hands of others because I could not be troubled to assert my authority in my own house. He has acquitted himself with honor in this last year and I know his father would have been proud of what he has done. He is a man and his choices are his own to make. I will not question them again."

A moment of silence fell. Corin cast a look sideways at his Warden brother. There was high color in Alistair's cheeks, but his voice was absolutely calm when he looked Eamon in the eye and said, "Thank you, sir."

"You are very welcome, Alistair. Since we all seem to be on the same page now, unless there are any matters that need discussion, I suggest we adjourn until dinner," the arl said. "I thank you for your time."

* * *

><p>The two young Wardens returned to their room. Corin closed the door behind them and immediately turned to his friend.<p>

"Are you all right? About Eamon?"

"All right? Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be? I can't tell you how good it was to hear him say that. I think we're all sorted out now."

Corin smiled. "I'm glad to hear it. Got any thing going on the rest of the day? With Leli, for instance?" He waggled his eyebrows.

His Warden brother snorted. "You know, fun as that is, you can't do it _all _the time. We got enough last night, thank you. I think…" Alistair looked at the sun pouring over the counterpane on the bed. Two good-sized meals since the day had begun with very little physical exertion had made him drowsy, and like any Grey Warden he'd long since learned to take advantage of that feeling when it appeared. "I think I'm going to take a nap."

"Sounds like a plan," Corin responded, heading over to the well-stocked writing desk under the window.

"You don't want a nap as well? You usually sleep pretty well in the afternoons, and we've got a lot going on tomorrow."

"I've got a letter to write. Perhaps in a while."

"All right then." Alistair pulled his boots and buckled his sword belt over the bed's post where it would be close to hand, then hopped up onto the bed. Sinking into the softness of the feather tick, the last thing he heard before sleep claimed him was the scratching of Corin's pen.

* * *

><p>That pen was still scratching when he woke, though from the angle of the sun through the window, a couple of hours had passed. Alistair got up, stretched, and padded over to his Warden brother.<p>

"Maker! _Still_ going at it? Are you writing a _book_?"

"Not quite," Corin said without looking up. "I'll leave that sort of thing to Leli. It's just an account of what we've been doing. A brief account, but apparently we've been busy enough that it takes a while to set it all down."

Alistair threw a glance at the several pages of closely written script. "Who is this not-so-brief account for?"

Corin stopped writing. "Fergus," he said, his voice suddenly tight.

A pang of pity shot through Alistair and he laid his hand on Corin's shoulder. "Corin," he said gently, "you do know that he's dead, don't you?"

Corin carefully laid the quill aside, and bowed his head. "I do know that he's most _likely_ dead," he said. "But it's not certain. And I'm proof myself-and you are too-that odd circumstances can come together to save people. So I'm writing him. Because I never got a chance…a chance to tell him what happened. At Highever, and after. And he'll need to know."

Alistair thought about that for a moment. _If nothing else, writing it all out…I guess it's sort of like a confession. Gets it out of your system. This is a little morbid, but it's probably actually good for him. And who knows, maybe he's right about Fergus. Corin can be uncanny sometimes… _Aloud he asked, "Who are you going to leave this letter with, so Fergus will get it? Eamon's people?"

"No. If we go down, this house is the first place Loghain's people will search. I don't want it falling into their hands. Zev will take it to Valendrian, in the Alienage. He can keep it and if it turns out that it can actually be delivered, well…who looks at elves?"

Who indeed. And Valendrian was a shrewd old fellow, someone Duncan had respected. Between his friendship with Duncan and what Corin had done for the Alienage, Alistair knew the letter would be in the safest possible place. And if it ever could be delivered, it would be. Like most of the powerless, elves knew a lot more than they let on, particularly since the powerful tended to talk around them as if they were furniture, never considering that the furniture had ears and brains. If Fergus should turn up alive, then they would most likely hear of it.

He gave Corin's shoulders a squeeze. "Sounds like a good plan. I'll leave you to it, shall I?" He went back to the bed, got his boots and pulled them on, then turned to the mabari by the hearth. "Pook, you want to go out?"

Pooka staggered to his feet with an affirmative bark and tottered towards the door. But he was already much steadier on his feet than he'd been just that morning.

"Thanks, Alistair."

"Don't mention it." The scratching started again as Alistair closed the door behind him.

* * *

><p>One of the very first precepts that the Crows had taught Zevran Aranai was that knowledge was power and that people would pay good money to obtain it, with or without killing involved. Not everything a Crow did was assassination. So when Corin gave him the sizeable packet to deliver, he knew that it was a foregone conclusion that he would read it first, whether he actually intended to do anything with the information or not. Instead of sneaking directly into the Alienage, he ghosted through the streets of Denerim to one of the several little refugesbolt holes he'd set up upon his arrival in the city, a tiny garret where he kept a few tools of his trade and a couple of healing potions.

The letter was so many pages that it was actually more of a packet, bound with cord. The seal itself was a mere featureless blob of wax, since Corin did not possess a signet ring with his crest. Though the cord complicated things a bit, it was still an easy enough matter to remove the seal in such a way that it could be reattached without leaving any signs that it had been tampered with. Zevran settled himself closer to the tiny shuttered lantern he'd lit, unfolded the pages and began to read.

And here at last, was a full account of the massacre at Highever. He'd heard bits of course, references in passing, enough to know the gist of what had happened. Nothing more than that. Everyone in their little group knew to step lightly around Corin when that subject came up. But though Bryce Cousland's youngest son would not talk about it, he'd finally brought himself to write everything that had happened, a dry, distanced narrative starting from the moment he'd met Duncan. Down to a list of the people he knew had been killed. _Mother Maillol. Iona. Aldous. Lady Landra. Page Timon. Page Brion. Nan. Dairren. Ser Rory Gilmore. Sergeant Quillon. Rhys. Marlie. _And a lot more,in no particular order, the names of pages and laundry maids, of soldiers and knights, written as Corin had recollected them, all lumped together, as their bodies had probably been on the mass pyres or in the mass graves. The casualty list was half a page of close-written script, and as Zevran read it, he realized that Howe had done much more than kill Corin's family. He'd killed his whole _world._

There was a paragraph where Corin expressed his grief and sympathy for Fergus's loss of his wife and son. That paragraph was much warmer, more the Corin Zevran knew, the distance gone. As was his mention of their mother.

_Fergus, if you don't ever forgive me for this, I will understand. The Maker knows I will never, ever forgive myself. Mother told me to go, that she wanted to stay with Father and cover our escape. And I obeyed her. I should not have. I should have dragged her from that room as Duncan dragged me. I should have knocked her unconscious if necessary. I assume that the soldiers killed her. I hope they did, and quickly. The alternatives are too painful to contemplate, but I do find myself contemplating them, usually in the dark of the night when sleep won't come._

_Brother, anything I've accomplished in this last year is overshadowed by that moment of supreme failure. It was the wrong decision and I've had to live with it ever since._

An intriguing insight into someone who always seemed so certain about his decisions.

The letter continued, through what had happened at Ostagar and after, which provided Zevran with some interesting information about Morrigan and her mother he'd not previously possessed. And about Alistair and Corin as well. _They shouldn't __**be**__ here! They should be dead and rotting in that tower. It's a miracle they're not. Andraste must love them both!_

The tone of the missive changed as Corin began to recount the tale of the last year's journeying and striving. It was lighter, since he was obviously proud of what he had done. The account was, by necessity, somewhat abbreviated. There was little said about Zevran's own capture.

_Loghain hired some Crows to kill the last Wardens, namely Alistair and myself. They set up an ambush on the road, made us think they were a caravan under attack. We fought them off and took the leader alive. Zevran volunteered to serve me, since the Crows were just going to kill him for his failure and I took him up on it. He has proven to be a faithful friend and companion-in-arms. And he's damned sneaky and useful-if a bit finicky about his hair. _Zevran smiled.

The rest of the letter was a tale he already knew, though he enjoyed Corin's telling of it, understated and modest, with that wry humor of his showing through in the odd turn of a phrase. But the last paragraph took him aback.

_Brother, if you're reading this, then in all likelihood I am dead. Though I've mentioned them all in passing before, I'd like to commend to you again the people who helped me over this last year, so that you will know to aid them in my name if they come to you in need and so that you know that they could aid you, should you have need. They have proven themselves time and time again to be honorable companions and the best of friends._

_Alistair Theirin, Grey Warden_

_Morrigan, Witch of the Wilds_

_Sten of the Beresaad of the Qunari_

_Leliana, bard of Orlais and Ferelden_

_Oghren, warrior of Orzammar_

_Zevran Arainai of Antiva_

_Senior Enchanter Wynne of the Circle of Ferelden_

_Shale, free golem_

_With all my love,_

_Your devoted brother Corin_

* * *

><p>As a Crow, Zevran knew the world ran on contracts, and that contracts were of various sorts and not always obvious as such. Whether written or verbal, whether they were called oaths or agreements or something else, they were all contracts. You were defined by the contracts you made and the contracts you were named in.<p>

Zevran himself had started as a bill of sale. _One male elf of seven years. Hair-blond. Eyes-brown. Health-good. No distinctive markings. _After years of training, he'd become the unnamed participant in many Crow contracts. _Team of twelve, to waylay the Forini caravan on the Rialto road. No survivors, proceeds from the sale of the cargo to be split between the Rialto chapter and the contractee, along with the aforementioned fee. _After many, many of those, that final, most fateful contract. _To achieve the deaths of any Grey Wardens still remaining in Ferelden-a team of ten agents with Traveler adjunct. Senior agent Zevran Arainai commanding. To remain in Ferelden until all Grey Wardens are eliminated._

He'd entered into that contract to end himself, penance for wrongly assuming another contract had been violated. In breaking it, he had both ended himself as a Crow and unexpectedly found a new beginning.

Though Corin's words were written in the plural, it was an easy enough thing to transpose them to the singular, as each of the names on that list had the right to do. _So that you will know to aid him in my name if he comes to you in need, and so that you will know that he will aid you, should you have need. He has proven himself time and time again to be an honorable companion and the best of friends. Zevran Arainai of Antiva._

In a letter to a dead man, Zevran read those words, saw the contract in them, the _noble _contract, and knew himself to be redefined beyond any going back. He set the letter carefully aside, because it was going to be a minute or two before it was safe for him to begin the re-sealing process. Wouldn't do to get water on the parchment, after all…

On a rickety chair in a squalid garret in a back alley house in Denerim, Zevran Arainai squeezed his eyes shut, tipped his head up and cursed silently.

_Damn you, Corin. And thank you._


	13. Chapter 13

Please don't hurt me guys-at least I got them out the door in this one! Landsmeet is next chapter-I've got nowhere else to go! And I'll warn you up front-we're heading into AU territory, because I don't find a recap of only the game possibilities to be very interesting. And the very premise of this fanfic is AU anyway!

Thanks to mille libri, Valen, almostinsane, Gemini1179, none, apm, anime/videogamefreak, lazyguy90, RoninKenshin. JadeOokami, spectre4hire, Mike and Queen Nan for your kind words about the last chapter.

apm-Don't worry. Just because Corin _wants_ things to turn out a certain way, just because he has all these clever plans, doesn't mean everything's that cut and dried. Love tends to throw a monkey wrench into these sorts of things.

* * *

><p>The Denerim Chantry was usually most empty after the midnight devotions and before the very popular sunrise ones. But Brother Genitivi, arriving a couple of hours before sunrise, found it fuller than usual. A dozen soldiers in Redcliffe livery stood at both the doors towards the back of the chantry, their attention focused on the single figure in the front pew, a large person clad in dragonbone armor the color of dried blood.<p>

Genitivi recognized that armor and limped forward, smiling. Cousland's head was bowed and the brother thought that he might be asleep. He was leaning back in the pew with his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. But his head lifted at the sound of Genitivi's approach and he smiled when he saw the brother.

"Brother Genitivi! It's a bit early to be out and about, isn't it?"

"I might say the same of you, Lord Cousland. I come early before the sunrise service sometimes, to gather my thoughts. What are you doing here?"

"Corin, please. I couldn't sleep. It's usually the darkspawn keeping me awake, but last night my thoughts just kept going round and round. I got a little rest after dinner, but after I woke up I couldn't get back to sleep. Alistair was managing to sleep and I was worried I'd wake him, so I figured I'd come here and pray and think for a bit. Try to get back some of that peace I found on the mountain." He gestured towards the stick Genitivi was carrying. "How's the foot?"

The brother shrugged. "I still have it, so it's good. About as good as it is going to get, in truth." He smiled. "I think my travelogues may take a little longer to compose in the future." Gesturing at the space beside Corin, he asked, "May I join you?"

"Please."

He seated himself, leaning his stick against the pew. "Shall I be silent, or would you like to talk?"

Corin grinned. "Do brothers take confessions?"

"No. But senior brothers do sometimes talk to people. There _are_ things that men don't care to discuss with a mother."

"I can imagine."

"And I've done my share of counseling in my time. So-why don't you tell me what is troubling you?"

Corin's brow furrowed and he sat up and leaned forward, elbows on knees. "I was talking to Alistair some time back and he was describing Teyrn Loghain as someone who knew that they knew best and should be running everything because of that. And it occurred to me tonight that there's really no difference between Loghain and myself. Most of the time I figure I know what's best for everyone too. I even sort of look like him-we have the same coloring at least-and I run around with a Theirin like he did. He was arrogant enough to decide Ferelden was better off with him than its anointed king, and I'm arrogant enough to think Ferelden would be better off with me as King than Loghain as Regent-or Alistair as King. So where's the difference?"

"Off-handedly, I would say that you are right. Upon the surface there's not that much difference," Genitivi answered, rubbing his chin reflectively. "You're both extremely charismatic and intelligent and you both have a knack for attracting extraordinary individuals to you."

"_Howe_ was an extraordinary individual?"

"You know that he was. Very few people achieve that level of depravity."

"Point taken," Corin acknowledged.

"But it's methodology that sets you apart from him. Loghain is trying to chivvy people under his banner by oppressing them. You've won three armies by helping people resolve difficulties that were plaguing them. He's leading by past reputation and you're leading by current example."

"So you're saying I'm justified in doing this?"

"No. I don't pass judgment upon people. What I will say is that so long as you're asking yourself these sorts of questions, you'll probably be all right. It's when you stop asking them and are no longer in doubt that the danger comes."

Corin pondered that for a moment, his brows drawn down in thought. "That's clear enough, I guess. Thank you, brother."

"It's the very least I can do." There was a moment's pause, while Genitivi wondered if he should pursue what he was thinking. Then he said, "If I may presume further?"

"Of course you may."

"It's not a sin to be a survivor, Corin." At the younger man's startled look, he smiled calmly. "I've been thinking and praying about you since the Queen told me you were a Cousland. I counseled a young boy once, whose father had thrown him out a second-story window to save him because their tenement was on fire and the downstairs was already in flames. Did the same with his younger sister as well, but she cracked her skull when she fell and died. He broke his leg and lived, but his entire family burned to death. The floor caved in right after he was thrown out."

"What did you tell him?"

"Well, of course he wanted to know the Maker's purpose in all that. I told him it might simply have been that it wasn't his time to die. He wanted to know if there was something the Maker wanted him to be doing. I told him he would have to decide that for himself, but that I thought that a quiet, examined life doing acts of goodness was as pleasing to the Maker and the Lady as a life of great deeds. That he still had the same choice as anyone has as regards their life-to make of it what he would."

"My choices were taken from me when I joined the Grey Wardens."

"Not entirely. You still had considerable latitude as to how you were going to go about this task you've been charged with. From what I hear, the choices you made have been good ones so far."

"I don't know about that." The young Warden reached up to his chest, as if reaching for something, then belatedly remembered he was armored.

"I never told you, Brother, and you never asked-_very_ restrained of you, by the way-" Genitivi grinned "-but my father came to me in the Gauntlet. He gave me an amulet and told me that he was dead and that I had to let him go." Corin dropped his hand and sighed. "But my living father, when he was dying, demanded vengeance upon Howe. Which I've achieved, for the most part. Howe is dead and I intend to get Highever back today, among the other things I hope to accomplish. Is that the right thing to do?"

"Why do you want to get Highever back? Merely to wrest it from Howe's heirs?"

"No. Thomas is dead and I've nothing in particular against Delilah or Nathaniel, though I daresay Nate's got a bone to pick with _me_ now. It's just that…the people of Highever are _our_ people. I need to know they're being looked after."

"That was what your father reared you to do. I don't think giving up on reclaiming Highever was what your father meant. I think what he was trying to tell you was that you need to let go of the idea that his death and the deaths of your family were something that you could have stopped, something you need feel guilty over."

"My mother was _alive_ when Duncan dragged me out of Highever's kitchen, Brother. Alive and unwounded, though Father was dying. She stayed with Father to cover our escape and buy us time. I should have dragged her with us. What sort of son lets his mother die to save his own sorry skin?" Corin bent his head and blinked several times in quick succession.

Genitivi's voice was gentle when he spoke. "Your mother and father-was it a political marriage?"

"Yes and no. I mean there were political advantages to them both, it was a marriage his parents approved of, but it was also a love match. They loved each other very much."

"You are fortunate in that. It is not so common among noble families. It's good that you had a loving example before you when you were growing up."

"So loving I just did as she said and left her."

"Corin!" The brother's voice sharpened in rebuke. "You are supposed to honor and obey your mother and father, you know that. The Precepts tell us so."

"Even unto death?"

"She was a grown woman, old enough to be a grandmother. She'd led a good, long life. She chose to remain to comfort and be with her beloved in his last moments and to go to the Maker's side with him. She chose to give you the time to escape. It was her right to do so." He reached over and took the gauntleted warrior's hands in his own ink-stained ones.

"Corin, a loving mother will always sacrifice herself for her children, even as our Lady gave herself to the fire so that we could be free. There's no way to know if you could have changed things. Duncan might have been strong enough to drag you away regardless. You might have spent so much time arguing that you both would have been found and killed by Howe's men. And even if you hadn't been found and had convinced her to come with you, she still would not have been safe. You went straight to _Ostagar_ afterwards! How many people survived that? You seem to have this odd idea that if you'd just been able to get your mother out of Highever, everything would have been all right, that she would have been safe and with you still to this day. What if she'd survived Highever, survived Ostagar and then died on one of these little adventures of yours? How would you have felt then? What if Howe had managed to capture her here in Denerim?"

"I…I guess you're right. I never thought about any of that. I just assumed that if I could have gotten her away, I could have always kept her safe. Rather prideful of me, now that I think about it. I do that a lot. I promise I'll work on it." Corin's voice was suspiciously thick. Genitivi reached into his belt pouch, pulled out one of the clean handkerchiefs he always kept there and presented it to the Warden, who stripped his gauntlets, then wiped his eyes and blew his nose.

"An experienced counselor indeed," he said, with a watery chuckle.

"You are doing what she would have wished you to do, my son. You are living your life honorably and well, and in doing so, you honor her sacrifice. Don't be lashing yourself about this. That's more about you than her, your grief that she's gone." He looked up and around the chapel for a long moment, finding no one there save for one young sister, kneeling before the altar.

"Would you like me to find a mother for you, to give you a blessing against the day, Corin?"

Cousland's nose was still buried in the handkerchief, but he nodded. "I'd appreciate that, Brother."

So Genitivi limped over to the sister, who looked up at the sound of his approach and got to her feet. Hers was a face he did not know, though that was hardly surprising, even with as much time as he spent in the chantry. In the past weeks, there'd been a continuous influx of clergy from outlying towns and villages taken by the Blight. The chantry was full up and there were mattresses in all the back passages.

"I am sorry to disturb you, Sister, but there's a young man here who would like a blessing. Is one of the mothers available?"

She was a young woman with a peasant's broad-faced prettiness, with strawberry blonde hair in rippling waves about her shoulders and eyes the blue of a summer sky. Her smile was a thing to spread warmth and happiness through anyone beholding it.

Her voice when she spoke was lovely too, with almost a trilling overtone to it. "Oh! Brother Genitivi, isn't it? I've heard so much about you. Good things, of course. I'm Sister Agnetha. From South Reach. I just came here a couple of days ago. I was Affirmed Agnetha then, but the Revered Mother confirmed me just yesterday. Sorry-that was too much about me, wasn't it? What was it you wanted again?"

"A mother, to give a blessing to that young man over there. He's going to the Landsmeet today and would like the Maker's benediction."

Agnetha's face fell. "He may have to wait until after the sunrise service then. All the mothers are closeted with the Revered Mother, praying for a good outcome for the Landsmeet and for the country. The Revered Mother said that they did not wish to be disturbed."

Genitivi had in his time mentored more than one young sister or brother. "I don't think he wants to wait that long. If no one else is available, then it falls to you to bless him, Sister," he said firmly. "I take it you were given duty here in the sanctuary?" Agnetha nodded. "You are here in case just such an occasion arises."

"I guess that's true. I'm a sister now and I'm allowed to bless people," the young sister said thoughtfully, "I just never thought about actually _doing_ it." She looked over at Corin and her brow furrowed. "He looks like a very important young man, Brother. I'm sure he'd rather a proper mother bless him. I don't want to offend him."

"I know him and he doesn't offend as easily as all that. You should offer, at the very least."

Her expression lightened. "I could do that, couldn't I? And then if he wanted to wait for a mother's blessing, he could just tell me so. That way I would be fulfilling my duties properly." She followed Genitivi over to Corin without any further argument.

"Corin, this is Sister Agnetha from South Reach. She tells me that all the mothers are in with the Revered Mother, praying about the Landsmeet and won't be available until after the sunrise service. She wanted to know if you'd accept a blessing from her."

"It would be my first blessing, ser," Agnetha said shyly. "I won't be offended if you'd rather have one of the mothers do it."

Corin, his eyes still a little red, looked up at her worried face and smiled. "Truly? Your very _first_ one?"

"Yes, my lord. I was just made a sister yesterday."

"That's wonderful! I've never had anything like this happen to me before. I would be honored to accept your first blessing."

"You _would_?" Agnetha actually bounced once in excitement before restraining herself. "Very well then, ser. I will gladly bless you."

Corin stood, carefully drew his sword, then went to one knee before the pew, the sword upright, his head bowed and hands clasped over the pommel. Agnetha's eyes widened at the sight of the blue, glowing length of the blade.

And Genitivi could tell that no one had instructed the young sister in the proper, dignified form for doing a blessing, or if they had, she'd forgotten in the excitement of the moment. Instead of dispensing the Maker's blessings from a hand held at a distance over the supplicant's head, as if the blessings were falling from heaven above, she actually placed one hand on Corin's head and the other over his hands on the sword.

"The Maker and his Bride watch over you today," she said earnestly, leaning close to his ear, an expression of absolute sincerity on her face. "May you make wise decisions. May you help others make wise decisions as well. And I _really_ hope you won't have to use this sword. But if you do, may They keep you safe."

The hairs on the back of Genitivi's neck rose. He'd experienced it once or twice before in a long religious life, the sense of Something else echoing in back of the sister's words. And was that the slightest glow he saw beneath her hands?

"So let it be," Corin responded, his eyes shut. He did not seem to feel or notice anything unusual. When Agnetha had finished, he opened them, smiled up at her and got to his feet with extraordinary grace for a large man in heavy armor. Sheathing Starfang and pulling his gauntlets back on, he said, "That was a most excellent blessing, sister, and I'm sure you're bound to only get better as you go on. You have my thanks."

"And you have mine, ser, for letting me," she said, shy once more. Corin nodded to Genitivi.

"Thank you, Brother. That was a big help."

"I'm glad to have been of service, Corin. Maker keep you."

"And you, Brother. Sister." He inclined his head to the two of them, and then strode off down the aisle, the Redcliffe men leaping to their feet to follow him from the chantry.

"He is important, isn't he, Brother Genitivi?" Agnetha asked. "Who is he?"

"He is a Grey Warden and the last Cousland. And, incidentally, the man who saved my life. After today…it remains to be seen if he will be anything else after today."

* * *

><p>Anora had wakened just after dawn, foggy-headed in a way she hated. She'd gone upstairs right after dinner the night before to see if she could speak to Corin, only to find that he was actually asleep. Upon returning to her bedroom, she'd found Erlina waiting with a sleeping draught. She'd taken one once or twice since Cailan's death, but did not care for the way the draughts made her feel the morning after. But the maid had been adamant, exerting that unique dominance domestics sometimes exercised over their so-called superiors.<p>

"You are not getting ze rest you need, Your Majesty. When you do not sleep, it shows in your face. Not good when you 'ave such a young man. And you will need your wits about you tomorrow." So she'd taken the draught and had sunk into the dreamless dark. Upon awakening, she'd sent Erlina to brew a pot of the stiffest tea she could, then set the maid to the laborious task of washing her hair. She'd eaten breakfast sitting before the fire, as Erlina blotted the long lengths repeatedly with fresh towels until they were almost dry, then began carefully combing through them to avoid breaking any strands. The process took over an hour and she could hear much going to and fro in the hall outside. But though she heard Pooka's barking once and the bard urging her strange pet down the hall, there was no sound of Corin's voice.

By the time her hair was properly braided and coifed, her carefully subtle cosmetics applied and she was dressed, there was a clamor of many voices down in the main hall. A knock came on her door. Erlina opened it to one of the arl's maids.

"The arl wishes to know if Your Majesty has aught to say to him before he departs," she said, bobbing a curtsey.

"Please inform the arl that I am on my way down now," Anora replied, and the young elf bobbed again and left to relay the message. She checked her mirror one last time, finding a regal, composed queen there. But she felt as if she were forgetting something…

In a little jumble on her vanity table were lengths of the gold silk ribbon. The mere sight of them brought back the memory of Corin's strong hands sliding the hair away from her neck and what had come after. A rush of warmth ran through her and Anora shivered. On impulse, she snatched one up, folding it into her hand until it was hidden. Then she left the room and went downstairs.

* * *

><p>At the foot of the stairs was a milling mass of men, which spilled over into the courtyard outside. Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan were both there and both were fully armored. Eamon saw her descend the stairs and made his way over to her.<p>

"Ah. Your Majesty. Teagan and I are going now. Give us about half an hour and then follow, if you would. We've got forty men with us and I've another twenty for you. I leave it up to you if you wish to go disguised, but it might be a good idea."

"It would at the very least make my entrance more dramatic," Anora said. "I have a hooded cloak and a half-mask, my lord arl, and I think I'll make use of them. Erlina, would you fetch them, please?" Erlina went back up the stairs.

"Very well then. Is there anything else you would like to tell me?" Anora shook her head.

"I think we covered everything yesterday when we all conferred, my lord. Maker keep you, my lord arl and you as well, Teagan." The Bann of Rainsfere bowed. "Your Majesty." The two strode off through the door, their men falling into ranks behind them in a fashion that spoke of good training.

"Good morning," came Corin's voice at last from behind and above her, as he came down the stairs. He was wearing Cailan's armor but not the shield, she noted. Remembering he'd mentioned having his own repainted, she was not surprised to see the bright, brave new Highever crest across his back. There was unspoken defiance there, for while the second son's arms would have been cheeky enough, this was the laurels undifferenced-the arms of the teyrn.

"Good morning. I gave you the shield as well," she noted as he joined her.

"I know, but I don't have the right to carry it yet. If I get that right, then rest assured I will. It's a _good_ shield." He looked at her searchingly. "Were you able to get some rest last night?"

"I took something and went to bed early. How about you? I came by after dinner and you were asleep."

"That lasted until about midnight, and then I was up the rest of the night. I went across to the chantry and stayed there until right before dawn. Brother Genitivi was there. We had a nice talk and I got blessed, so my soul's all sorted out." That Corin might have need of being shriven was a distressing thought, so Anora fastened upon something else.

"You went out _by yourself_?"

"Only if you consider a dozen of Eamon's men 'by yourself'."

"Perhaps _you_ should try a sleeping draught."

"I did try it, early on. Morrigan can brew up a sleepy-tea that will knock you into next week."

"And?"

"And I found that I prefer being able to wake up from my nightmares, instead of being trapped in them."

"Oh." A moment's silence fell between them. Anora clenched her hand a little, felt the silk within it and remembered her impulse of minutes before. "I have something for you."

Corin gave her a quizzical look. "You do? Something more than this lovely armor?"

She nodded and unfolded the ribbon, regretting the impulse already. The yellow ribbon was small, rumpled, insignificant. Belatedly, she remembered the white and gold scarf, shot through with metallic threads, which she had used to give to Cailan during tournaments. She had never worn it, had bought it to be a favor only, but something like that would have shown to much greater advantage than the small scrap of silk.

But her betrothed was surprisingly pleased by it. "One of _those_ ribbons, is it?" he asked with a wicked grin. Anora felt herself blushing.

"Not one of the exact ones, no, but more of the same."

"I like this idea." Encouraged by his reaction, Anora went to tie the ribbon around his upper arm, only to discover that it was too short to reach around a good-sized arm clad in heavy dragonbone.

"I am sorry, Corin. I didn't think this through very well." She started to withdraw the hand with the ribbon in it, only to have his gauntleted right hand swoop out with surprising speed to carefully nip the bit of ribbon from her fingers.

"Oh no! That's _my_ favor! You're not getting it back."

"I could go upstairs and find something else. Something longer."

"I want to keep this one. It has pleasant…associations." Maker, was he blushing too?

"Well I don't know where you're going to put it, unless you drape it over one of your ears."

Corin chuckled. "Let me think." He mulled the matter over for a moment. "Aha! Got it. Does it matter to you if anyone else sees it or not?"

"No, I just wanted to give it to you." One possibility occurred to her then that made her blush almost scarlet. Corin saw this and he grinned lasciviously.

"_Whatever_ could you be thinking? Such a dirty mind!" He clamped his left gauntlet between his right arm and his side, pulled it off, then offered her his wrist. "Will this do? Left hand's the heart hand or so they say. It's supposed to be the closer of the two. I don't want to know who figured that out or how they did it."

Anora nodded and took the dangling ribbon from between the metal fingers. Corin then used his right hand to push armor, padding and shirt up, baring his wrist. She bent her head and tied the ribbon carefully on.

"That's not too tight, is it?"

"No, it's good." His skin was already very warm from the thickness of armor and gambeson. She'd noticed the pulse in his wrist galloping a little when she tied the ribbon on and looked up at him in concern.

"Are you all right?"

"A little worried. It's been a long time coming, this day."

She wouldn't have known it otherwise. His expression was perfectly calm and his posture relaxed. "You hide it very well."

"You can thank my late father for that. I don't know how many times he impressed upon Fergus and me that in times of crisis, the semblance of confidence often suffices as well as the real thing."

"Make a decision, stick to it and act like it's the best decision whether you are sure it is or not."

"Exactly. Your father apparently taught you the same thing." Corin lifted her hand to his lips. "Thank you for this. It's much more than I expected and it means a lot to me."

"You are welcome. Should we go yet, do you think?"

"We'll give it a few more minutes. If youwill excuse me, I have to speak to my people." His bare hand lifted to her chin for a brief moment and his lips pressed softly against her cheek. Anora heard a giggle from the bard and a whistle from the dwarf.

"Good on ya, Warden!"

She watched while Corin moved from one to the other, smiling, laughing, sharing a joke. Was that a _cookie_ one of the maids was giving the Qunari? The golem's rumbling laugh echoed through the hall, causing some of Eamon's men to jump and look in that direction nervously. Anora paid special attention to her betrothed's interaction with the witch, but it consisted solely of a few sober words and a nod from her. She watched him gather them in and gather them up; less stern than her father, keener than Cailan.

Alistair, buffed and polished until his dark blue Warden armor was glowing, was saved for last. The two young men bent heads together for a long moment, then there as a mutual clapping of shoulders. Erlina appeared at Anora's side with the cloak and mask. She slung the cloak over her shoulders, donned the mask and pulled the hood up.

The dwarf approached and made a tolerable bow. There was not the usual smell of ale about him this morning and he looked quite presentable.

"Shale and Zevran and Leliana are with me, guarding you, Your Majesty, if you didn't know."

"Corin mentioned it."

He nodded. "Thought that he might. Anyway, don't you worry. We'll take good care of you."

"I'm sure that you will."

He turned to Eamon's men and bellowed-"Form up on the Queen, ya nug-humpers!"-then gave her a belated look of chagrined apology. Anora's tightly-strung nerves snapped. To her horror, she found herself giggling.

That giggle caught her betrothed's attention and won her a blue-eyed wink and smile from across the room. That smile steadied her and she gave him a nod and a smile of her own.

"Let's move out, people!" he called and the whole odd procession flowed out the doors, into the bright, perfect autumn morning. Corin and his three chosen companions took the lead and they began the long walk uphill to the Palace District.


	14. Chapter 14

Many thanks to mille libri, none, apm, JadeOokami, almostinsane, spectre4hire, Gemini1179, Mike, anime/videogamefreak, RoninKenshin, lazyguy90 and Queen Nan for your lovely comments on the last chapter. I was sweating that one a bit, because I felt that I should be getting on with the Landsmeet and be done with all the navel-gazing introspection. But Corin and the other little OC had other ideas. I'm a bit notorious for OCs in my other fandom and wasn't sure how well recieved they'd be in this one. Thanks for the reassurance!

So, we've arrived at the Landsmeet. I'm not entirely happy with this chapter-I felt a bit confined by game dialogue, but didn't want to discard it completely. It may not end up as AU as I had thought-the AU elements so far have consisted primarily of things I'd always wanted to say to Loghain, but the game wouldn't let me. And certain things that always irked me, like Riordan being completely quiet until the very end, and the fact that no one ever questions the death of one of Ferelden's two teyrns and his entire family. Corin's play-through is saved before the entrance to the Landsmeet chamber. In the game, he killed Cauthrien, but Game!Corin isn't really Fic!Corin. So I went back over it a couple of times for dialogue, as well as another of my Cousland saves to get the Cauthrien dialogue. Derivations are either intentional or ignorance-I won't apologize for either.

As far as Loghain is concerned, I'm not a Game!Loghain fan. Only made him a Warden once, and I didn't think it was worth losing Alistair over. But then, I'm not a Game!Anora fan either and look what happened! His fate is not revealed in this chapter, though I've waffled over it for about a week now.

* * *

><p>Like a guard mabari set to guard an outer courtyard, Ser Cauthrien was waiting at the main entrance to the Landsmeet. Alistair looked at his Warden brother.<p>

"Kick her ass?"

Corin shook his head. "Not yet. We need every blade we can get against the darkspawn and she's a good one."

"The Qun does counsel against waste, _kadan_," Sten put in unexpectedly. Morrigan simply snorted, which could have meant anything.

"Let me talk to her first. If she won't see reason, _then_ we kick her ass." She had half a dozen guards with her, a far cry from the stiff opposition they'd met in Howe's house, and only a couple of them were archers. Corin was certain his people could take them in a fight. He was less certain about his ability to take Cauthrien, who was one of the kingdom's premier fighters, but the pallor of her face and the strained look upon it indicated that she might not be at the top of her game.

"Warden," she snapped as they approached. "I am not surprised that it has come to this. And Alistair. If you were even remotely worthy of being Maric's son, you would already be in the Landsmeet, wouldn't you?"

"This isn't about me being Maric's son, Ser Cauthrien," Alistair said mildly. That seemed to muddle her train of thought for a moment. Then she turned back to Corin.

"_You! _You have torn this country apart, attacking the one man who ensured you were born in freedom. But do not think you will get past me to desecrate the Landsmeet." Her posture shifted, became more belligerent. "The nobles of Ferelden will confirm my lord as regent and we can finally put this to rest. Once _you_ are gone."

Corin shook his head sadly. "Ser Cauthrien, if you were so certain of that outcome, you wouldn't be standing here trying to keep me out. If Loghain's behavior were without reproach, you could let me in without fear. I've not moved directly against your lord. Do you see an army at my back?"

"You have three of them, 'tis said, down at Redcliffe."

"To combat the Blight. Elves and dwarves and mages. Compelled by ancient treaty to fight the Blight, not your lord. Numbers to make up for the men your lord betrayed at Ostagar." His eyes caught and bored into hers. "You were standing right there when he gave the order, Cauthrien. You of all people know best if that order was justified or not. So tell me-was your lord truly saving his men from being thrown into a hopeless attack with no chance of victory? Or was he _abandoning_ his king?" Her hand went over her shoulder to the hilt of her sword. Corin's voice lowered, intensified. "Do you really not _see _what Loghain has become?"

The hand dropped. "I…am aware that he has changed. It has been…difficult for him to realize that his countrymen would turn against him. I'm not surprised he is bitter. But he is still a great man. One of the best Ferelden has seen."

Corin nodded. "He was a hero. Most everyone here, me included, grew up on tales of the Battle of River Dane. That should tell you how very wrong Loghain must be now, that the bannorn has risen against him. And what sort of _honorable_ lord keeps someone like Howe at his side, much less rewards him with a teyrnir and another arldom? How can you justify your lord letting Howe torture his subjects?"

There was an almost desperate quality to Cauthrien's voice. "You think it is simple, don't you, Warden? You fight only monsters. No one sheds a tear over the death of an ogre. Torture is an ugly business. But sometimes it is the only way to learn what your enemy intends. And it is much harder to tell who the enemy is when all of them look like you."

Corin sighed. "Wait a moment here. I don't mind an argument, but I'd at least like a coherent one. I know you've not had any training in rhetoric or logic, but could you at least _try_?" Cauthrien bridled. "First you say that I'm fighting your lord, and then the next moment you say that I fight only monsters. You can't have it both ways-unless you're implying that Loghain _is_ a monster! Have you _been_ down in Howe's dungeon? Because I have."

Loghain's knight looked baffled, like a huge, stolid mastiff being confronted with a little, yapping dog that wouldn't stand and fight, but kept leaping and nipping from front to back and side to side, never standing still. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Alistair suppressed a smile. He'd been on the receiving end of Corin's arguments once or twice early on and knew just how she felt.

"Howe's dungeon has an entrance off his _bedroom_," Corin continued. "What sort of sane man does that? Do you think that the Templar Irminric was imprisoned there, half-mad from lyrium withdrawal, because he had information your lord needed? No, he was imprisoned there because Loghain had sent his men against a Chantry's templar engaged in his holy duty, so that Loghain could get his hands on a blood mage to poison Arl Eamon. And of course _that _couldn't come to light." He relaxed his stance, went hip-shot as if in total disregard of the peril before him and Cauthrien subconsciously followed suit.

"Do you think Lord Oswyn was there getting racked because he had valuable information your lord needed? No, he was there because he'd spoken to his wet-nurse's son, a soldier he was still friends with. That man was standing close to you, Cauthrien, when Loghain gave the order and now he's dead because he knew what you keep denying to yourself. That Loghain _deserted_ his king. Oswyn was in prison because Howe and Loghain didn't want that information getting out either-Oswyn had enough rank that people might actually listen to him. And Howe was torturing him, as far as I can tell, for the sheer fun of it." The shoulders clad in Cailan's golden armor shrugged.

"Now I will admit that _Riordan_ was being tortured for information. But does that really make _imprisoning and torturing a Grey Warden in a time of Blight_ a good thing? How do you think Weisshaupt and the rest of Thedas will react when they hear that?"

Cauthrien glowered sullenly.

"Torture aside, let's talk about the fact that one of Ferelden's best men ever has been selling his own subjects into slavery, in direct violation of Fereldan law."

"What was he supposed to do?" the knight leapt to her lord's defense with sudden desperation. "You and Eamon were harassing him at every side, forcing him to empty the treasury to fight you!"

Corin gave her a pitying look. "Is that how he explained it to you? Odd how you've not been present for any of this supposed fighting Eamon and I have done, given that you're Loghain's good right hand. I'm sure I would have seen you." He folded his arms. His expression was stern. "Ser Cauthrien, we've not taken the field against your lord. The arl is but lately up from his sickbed and I've had other things to do. I am also cognizant, as Loghain is apparently not, of what a stupid _waste _ it is to spend good soldiers in a civil war during a Blight. And that is the only reason you and I are still talking, by the way. If Loghain is selling the people he swore an oath to protect into slavery, it's because he's desperately trying to raise enough troops to cover his ass for his mistake at Ostagar and this stupid civil war _he_ started, not because Eamon and I are opposing him militarily. I'm trying to get into the Landsmeet to make a properly _legal_ argument against him and you're stopping me. So who exactly is upholding the rule of law in Ferelden?"

The fire seemed to go out of Cauthrien then. "He never wanted a civil war," she murmured dully. "After Cailan died, everyone was supposed to rally, to come together to fight the darkspawn without asking Orlais for aid. He never anticipated Maric's bastard would challenge the throne and force this war."

"Maric's bastard is standing right here, thank you very much," Alistair put in sharply, "And I'm not forcing any sort of civil war. If we're challenging the throne it's because your _lord_ made it necessary! Because he left us no choice! He betrayed almost all of the Wardens, including the Ferelden Warden-Commander, to their deaths at Ostagar and then he slandered them, blaming them for _his_ actions. He sent bounty hunters against us on more than one occasion and _Crows_ once as well. What an _honorable_ hero!" he sneered. Cauthrien actually flinched. "He's done everything in his power to make sure that there's not a single active Grey Warden in Ferelden, _during a_ _Blight_. This insures that the people he got freedom for, the same ones you keep harping about, will be _destroyed_, since Wardens are the _only _people who can kill an Archdemon and stop a Blight! But hey, I guess it does solve the _Orlais_ problem once and for all, doesn't it? Orlais won't be interested in Ferelden once it's Blighted border to border! Great plan!" The last words were a snarl.

"Alistair…" Corin said mildly and Alistair subsided. "I will point out that we did try to treat with your lord when we came to Denerim," he said to Cauthrien. "We tried to turn him from this course. You know that this is true, you were there. More than generous of us, don't you think; given the way we've been treated?"

Cauthrien looked from one to the other of them for a long moment. "Fine!" she exclaimed at last. "You're right, Wardens! What would you have me say? Loghain is a great man, but his hatred of Orlais has driven him to madness." Her expression became despairing, as did her voice. "He has done terrible things. I know it, but I owe him _everything_! I cannot betray him, do not ask me to!"

"I'm not a knight," Corin said, his tone gentle, "but I've seen plenty of knighting ceremonies and I know the oath. By making you party to all of these foul things, Cauthrien, Loghain has already betrayed _you_. In some ways, more than any of us." His voice dropped, gentled even further. "That oath no longer binds you. Let me stop him. You know that it's the only way."

"I wish that I had died at Ostagar rather than live to see this day," came the sorrowful, defeated response. Cauthrien spun to the side and cleared their path. "Stop him, Warden; stop him from betraying everything he once loved." Her eyes met Corin's pleadingly. "Please, show mercy. Without Loghain there would be no Ferelden to defend."

"I will do what I can," Corin said noncommittally. It was obviously not what the knight wanted to hear, but she nodded. The Wardens advanced to the heavy doors and pushed them open.

* * *

><p>There were a couple of gasps from startled lords and ladies. Corin didn't know if they were reacting to his and Alistair's presence, or if they'd recognized Cailan's armor.<p>

"My lords and ladies of the Landsmeet," Eamon was declaiming as they entered. "Teyrn Loghain would have us give up our freedoms, our traditions out of fear. He placed us on this path, but we must place our destiny in _his_ hands? Must we sacrifice everything good about our nation to save it?"

"Eamon's in good form," he noted in an aside to Alistair, who nodded. "You all right? You were a little hot under the collar earlier."

"I'm good now. And you?"

"Nerves earlier, never better now." And it was true. All the disparate quests over the last year were like little footpaths that had combined into a broad highway that had finally led to this room on this day. Corin had a feeling singing through his veins that he was in the right place at the right time. And that feeling held even when Loghain made his entrance, applauding Eamon's speech with obvious irony.

"A fine performance, Eamon. But no one here is taken in by it. You would put a puppet on the throne and every soul here knows it. The better question is-who would be pulling the strings?" He caught sight of Corin and Alistair working their way to the front of the crowd. "Hah! And here we have the puppeteer. Tell us, Warden, how _will_ the Orlesians take our land from us? Will they deign to send their troops? Or will they simply issue their orders through this would-be prince? What did they offer you? How much is the price of Fereldan honor now?"

"I don't know what the Orlesians are doing, my lord teyrn," Corin said contemptuously. "Nor do I care. You're quite the one-song bird, aren't you? The _Blight _is the threat here, not Orlais!"

Matching contempt with contempt, Loghain declared, "You expect me to believe that Bryce Cousland's son is not in bed with the Orlesians-just as his father was?"

And just like that, all of Corin's carefully crafted plans teetered on the brink of ruin, for Loghain's jibe had struck home and all he could feel was a white-hot, humming fury and all he longed to do was to smash his gauntlet into the sallow face in front of him, to call challenge and beat the Regent into the floor. Glancing at Alistair, he saw only sympathy and knew that his Warden brother would forego his own vengeance in order to give Corin satisfaction against Loghain.

He was saved by two women. From behind him, Morrigan placed a gauntleted hand upon his shoulder, squeezed and muttered in his ear "Humph! _That's_ a rather obvious move!" The scorn in her voice cooled his temper and focused him once more.

And up in the gallery, Bann Alfstanna declared, "Teyrn Cousland's fate and the fate of his family have been a matter of interest to a number of us for some time now, my lord regent. Many of the bannorn are particularly perturbed that the charge of collusion and the article of attainder were published _after _ his death, and that the person who substantiated those charges-the late Rendon Howe-was also the person who profited most from them."

"And are you not disturbed that Howe is dead?" Loghain asked. "Murdered by this man standing here, no less!"

"Rendon Howe was imprisoning innocents and torturing them," Corin retorted. "And you knew it and allowed it!"

"The Warden speaks truly!" Bann Sighard interjected. "My son was taken under cover of night! Some of the things that were done to him are beyond any healer's skill." Gasps and murmuring from the crowd. As Corin had thought, that was a particularly effective charge. Nobles liked to think themselves immune to such things.

"Whatever Howe may have done, he should have been brought before the seneschal. There is no justice in butchering a man in his own house," Loghain declared unctuously.

"Oh, really? 'Brought before the seneschal'?" Corin laughed and it was an ugly thing. "And how exactly was I supposed to have done that, when upon my arrival in this city, I was informed by both you and Howe that as the son of an attainted traitor I had no right to justice? Let's talk about this so-called butchery, my lord. Yes, I went into Howe's house, with three companions. We fought our way through his guards, outnumbered four and five to one. And when I met Howe, I fought him face-to-face and blade-to-blade to kill him. Which is much more consideration than _my father_ got!"

"You want to know what butchery is?" Corin's voice dropped and harshened. "Butchery is when you accept an old friend's hospitality, wait until his oldest son marches most of his troops out of the castle to answer the King's call and then attack with overwhelming numbers in the dead of night. Butchery is when you slaughter everyone in that castle without mercy, down to the very children. Butchery is when you set upon your old friend when he is unarmored and unarmed and run him through. _That _is what butchery is, _my lord_. And Howe was _your _butcher."

There was a moment of silence. Was that uncertainty flickering in Loghain's eyes? Possibly even shame? At last he said, "Howe was responsible for himself. And whatever wrongs he has done, he will have to answer for before the Maker."

"As will _you_! Arl of Denerim, Teyrn of Highever, on top of his own arldom! _Three_ titles for _one_ man, an embarrassment of riches. You rewarded Howe for his actions, because he did them at _your_ request!" Some heated murmuring broke out. Howe's bounty of titles was apparently a sore spot with the nobles. "Even as you sent a blood mage to poison Arl Eamon."

The teyrn seemed to recover himself. "I assure you, Warden, if I were to send someone, it would be my own soldiers. I would not trust to the discretion of an apostate."

Alfstanna's voice again. _I __**really**__ owe her a drink or three_, Corin thought. "Indeed, my lord regent? My brother tells a very different tale. That would be my _templar_ brother, whom I personally retrieved from Howe's prison after his death. Irminric says that you snatched a blood mage from the Chantry's justice. Coincidence?"

The Revered Mother chimed in then, her expression outraged. "Do not think that the Chantry will overlook this, Teyrn Loghain! Interference in a templar's sacred duty is an offense against the Maker!" The crowd roiled restlessly. _Nothing like calling divine wrath down on someone to make association with them unattractive_, Corin reflected, rather pleased with how things were going.

Loghain seemed a little dismayed by the Revered Mother's reaction, though he endeavored to hide it. "Whatever I have done, I will answer for later."

"Now works for me," Alistair chirped, and a couple of people in the crowd laughed nervously. The regent shot him a glare.

"At the moment, however," Loghain continued after a moment, having collected himself, "I wish to know what this Warden has done with my daughter." He rounded on Corin. "You took my daughter-_our Queen_-by force, killing her guards in the process. What arts have you employed to keep her? Does she even still live?"

Corin smiled broadly. "I didn't just go into Howe's house to kill Howe, though that was certainly a wonderful bonus. I went in because Howe was holding the Queen against her will."

"And I thank the Warden for his care of me," Anora said as she entered the room. Pandemonium ensued and she had to raise her voice. "He rescued me at the risk of his own life and endured imprisonment in Fort Drakon as a consequence!" She waited, composed, until the uproar had died down, and then spoke again.

"Lords and ladies of Ferelden, my father is no longer the man you once knew. This man is not the Hero of River Dane. This man turned his troops aside and refused to protect your king as he fought bravely against the darkspawn. This man seized the throne before Cailan's body was cold and locked me away so that I could not reveal his treachery. I would have already been killed, were it not for this Grey Warden." Uproar. What no one else could have said without being doubted was put forward by Cailan's widow as indisputable fact.

Corin blinked, astounded. _She doesn't do things by halves, does she?_ Anora's taut, expressionless features told him the true tale. _She's going for the quick kill, trying to avoid a long, drawn-out process. She's trying to save Loghain pain, though I doubt he sees it that way._

And indeed, the betrayal could be seen on his face as her father said over the raised voices, "So, the Warden has poisoned even _your_ mind, Anora? I wanted to protect you from this."

"Oh, you_ protected_ me all right, Father! Nearly protected me right off the throne, thank you very much!" There was genuine anger and the echo of months of frustration in the snappish answer.

"Order please! Order!" Eamon cried. "With Her Majesty's permission," he said when the crowd had finally settled, "I think that the grave nature and number of the accusations against Teyrn Loghain call his fitness for the office of Regent into question."

"I agree," Alfstanna said.

"I certainly agree," Bann Sighard asserted.

"And who will you get to lead the armies in my place?" Loghain snorted. "This young Warden?" He looked about the Landsmeet chamber. "Am I not the only one who sees this? This Warden is the son of a man who allied himself with Orlais against his own country's best interests."

"According to _Rendon Howe_, whose word is more than a little suspect at this point," Corin put in, keeping a firm grip on his temper this time.

"These Wardens claim that they alone can end the Blight, but they failed spectacularly against the darkspawn at Ostagar," Loghain scoffed. Corin grabbed Alistair's arm when he saw him start to step forward. "And they ask to bring with them _four legions_ of Chevaliers! And once we open our borders to the Chevaliers can we really expect them to simply return from whence they came?"

"You need not worry about the Chevaliers, Teyrn Loghain." Riordan's Orlesian accent sounded from the side of the room. "Neither they nor the Orlesian Wardens will intrude where they are not wanted." He walked forward to join Corin and Alistair and looked around the room. "I am Riordan, Senior Warden of Jader. Because I am Fereldan by birth, I was sent here by First Warden to investigate the deaths of my brethren at Ostagar and to assess the situation with the Blight. Upon my arrival, Arl Howe imprisoned and tortured me. I was recently freed by my two Warden brothers here." He smiled at Alistair and Corin.

"In answer to your question, Teyrn Loghain, there have been four Blights, and each of those Blights was ended by a Grey Warden who slew an Archdemon. _Only _GreyWardens can slay an Archdemon so that it will stay slain-our Joining gives us the ability to do so. _That _is why we are necessary. If a normal warrior slays the Archdemon, it will simply form again from another darkspawn body. Since the darkspawn are so numerous, that makes it, in effect, immortal. And while Grey Wardens are formidable warriors, particularly against the darkspawn, given sufficient numbers we can be overwhelmed as any fighter can-as was proven at Ostagar. So if you need to end a Blight, you send as many Grey Wardens as you can muster against the Archdemon, and you send as many regular troops with them that you can, to insure that a Warden can reach it to slay it. That is the reason the Wardens wished to be accompanied by the Chevaliers-you must admit that they are formidable shock troops. Once it is slain, the darkspawn are leaderless and begin to retreat back under ground. The Blight ends."

A silence fell while all mulled this over. Corin could have kissed his Senior Warden brother. Riordan's reasonable response and open sharing of information had totally neutralized Loghain's rant.

Eamon turned to Riordan. "What is the First Warden's policy towards Ferelden at present, Senior Warden? Would it be possible for the Wardens to come assist us without the Chevaliers?"

"The civil unrest and the policies that the Regent has enacted against the Wardens have made it impossible to operate here," Riordan replied regretfully. "The First Warden will not risk sending any more Wardens to Ferelden-we are not a large Order and too many have been lost here already, to no good purpose. If I and my two Warden brothers fail to slay the Archdemon, then the Orlesians will not be invading your country, Teyrn Loghain. They will be closing the passes in the mountains and sealing the border against your refugees, who might be bearing the Taint. Your ports will be blockaded and you will all be left to die. Ferelden will be sacrificed to the Blight to buy time for the rest of Thedas."

Another outbreak of sound, exclamations of fear and one roar of rage. "You've ruined us, Loghain!" Wulff snarled. "My bannorn's blood is on your hands, as is the blood of my sons!"

"On a more positive note," Riordan continued over the noise, which subsided respectfully as soon as he began to speak, "my Warden brothers here have been very busy this last year. They have used some ancient treaties the Wardens have to secure alliances with the Dalish Elves, the Dwarves of Orzammar and the Circle of Mages. These allies are mustering at Redcliffe and stand ready to lend their aid against the Blight."

Murmurs of approval ran around the room.

"I've got no problem following the Wardens in this," Alfstanna noted. "They at least seem to have been concentrating on what the _real _problem was, rather than hammering the bannorn and torturing every other lord." She gave Loghain a venomous look.

"Let us put it to a vote then," Eamon suggested.

"Waking Sea stands with the Wardens!" Alfstanna promptly declared.

"South Reach stands with the Grey Wardens!"

"West Hills stands with the Grey Wardens, Maker help us!" Wulff cried.

"I stand with Loghain! We have no hope of victory otherwise," Ceorlic wheezed.

"The Warden helped me…in a family matter," one bann declared. "I stand with the Wardens!" Corin smiled. So_ he _ was the 'important father' Ignatio had mentioned!

"Rainsfere stands with the Wardens, of course," Teagan called.

And so it went, on and on, every bannorn declaring for the Wardens save for Ceorlic. Luxuriating in the feeling of a job well done, Corin looked over at his nemesis.

"The Landsmeet has spoken, Teyrn Loghain. Stand down gracefully." His glance then crossed Anora's, who was looking at her father intently, as if willing him to do the right thing.

For a moment Corin actually thought that Loghain might do so. Then something seemed to snap within him.

"_Traitors!_" he snarled. "Which of you stood against the Orlesian emperor when his troops flattened your fields and raped your wives?" He turned to confront Eamon, who met his gaze steadily. "You fought with us once, Eamon. You used to care about this land once, before you got too old and too fat to see what you risk!"

"I do still care about this land, Loghain," he said quietly. "That's why I'm here today."

The teyrn snorted and turned to look around the room. "_None_ of you have fought for this land as I have! _None_ of you have spilled blood for it as I have. _How dare you judge me!_"

Corin moved to confront him then, standing almost toe to toe. _It is time. Past time, in truth. _He spoke loudly enough to reach the crowd, and very formally, so that there would be no misunderstanding. "Do I understand you correctly, my lord teyrn? Are you denying that this Landsmeet has the right to remove you from office? Are you defying the authority of the Landsmeet of Ferelden?"

"I am."

"You do realize that such defiance is a treasonable offence?" Murmuring from the crowd.

"_You_ would speak of treason to _me_, Cousland?"

"I would and I do, sir. But your status as a Ferelden legend does grant you some consideration. Let us prevent more bloodshed and civil war and settle this honorably."

Loghain nodded. "Indeed, let us end this." He surveyed Corin broodingly for a moment. "I supposed we both knew it would come to this. I didn't think so at Ostagar, but that seems a lifetime ago." A lifetime that, judging from his gaunt frame and the dark, bruised-looking skin around his eyes, had not worn well on him. "A man is judged by the quality of his enemies," he said in an oddly musing tone. "Maric told me that once. I wonder if it's more a compliment to you or me."

"To you of course, sir," Corin said promptly, watching while Loghain worked out the inference that Corin had been the better enemy. The teyrn's eyes narrowed.

"Enough! Let the Landsmeet declare the terms of the duel."

Alfstanna stepped into the breach once more. If Ferelden survived the Blight, Corin reflected, the forthright Bann of Waking Sea looked to become a powerful figure in the days to come. And if he survived the day, he resolved to set her up a permanent tab at the Gnawed Noble. _Least I can do!_

"It shall be fought according to tradition," she declared. "A test of arms in single combat until one party yields. And we who are assembled here will abide by the outcome."

Loghain nodded approval. "Agreed." His gaze locked onto Corin. "Will you fight me yourself, or do you have a champion?"

Corin met that burning gaze, remembered Loghain's earlier words and for a moment contemplated breaking his own sworn word. Loghain knew who the architect of his downfall really was, and in those eyes he could read the teyrn's desire to meet Corin openly, to rend this enemy who had proven so much better in the political arena in the one venue where Loghain knew himself to be paramount.

And there was in Corin a desire to do so as well, to prove himself Loghain's better in all things. To smash the man who was ultimately responsible for smashing his life. Set against that was the promise he'd made his Warden brother: _"…if it comes down to single combat, Loghain is yours." _And possibly the words of a young Chantry sister, this very morning: _"And I __**really**__ hope that you won't have to use this sword." _And the knowledge that in the past year, Corin had trusted where most would have felt that trust was unwarranted, and had never, ever been disappointed. Had trusted the apostate, the loopy bard, the alcoholic dwarf, the Qunari. Had trusted the assassin, the abomination, the murderous golem. Had trusted Alistair most of all and all along, so why stop now? And lastly, for Anora's sake, the realization that this was better left to other hands. _A king learns to delegate. He doesn't do everything himself._

He looked into Loghain's eyes and smiled. "Alistair will be my champion." Saw the momentary flash of disappointment, the realization that even after all of this, Corin did not feel Loghain worthy of his personal attention. And that moment was very sweet.

"Very well then," Loghain said, looking at Alistair. "Prepare yourself. Let us test the mettle of our would-be king."

Alistair Theirin unslung Duncan's shield, settled it on his arm and drew his father's sword, for once in his life having been given precedence over all others. And the look he gave Corin then, blazing love and pride and gratitude, made the gamble worthwhile, no matter the outcome. Corin stepped back to the sidelines with all the rest, leaving the two men, circling each other like wary mountain cats, the focus of all eyes.

_The die is cast. It's up to Alistair to make it a winner._


	15. Chapter 15

This chapter is my shortest one yet, but it didn't feel that way to me. Writing it was a very intense experience and I couldn't go any further when I was done. I honestly didn't know what was going to happen with the duel until I started writing it and I know some people are bound to be disappointed, but it was a sudden inspiration and when I get those I always go with them.

I'm publishing this very quickly after my last chapter so thanks to folks who may review later. And thanks to those who already have-mutive, almostinsane, Cozman10, Cibiripilli, Valin, none, Rawr1983, JadeOokami, anime/videogamefreak, spectre4hire, Ronin Kenshin, lazyguy90, Mike, Gemini, and Queen Nan. My muse hasn't been this hot in years and my reviewers are all to thank/blame!

* * *

><p>"<em>Do I understand you correctly, my lord teyrn? Are you denying that this Landsmeet has the right to remove you from office? Are you defying the authority of the Landsmeet of Ferelden?"<em>

"_I am."_

"_You do realize that such defiance is a treasonable offence?" _

"_**You**__ would speak of treason to __**me**__, Cousland?"_

"_I would and I do, sir. _

Anora heard those words and in them, her father's death sentence. She knew why Corin had formally asked, so that she would know what was happening and why.

"_And what happens if he doesn't step down?"_

"_Then one of us doesn't leave the Landsmeet alive."_

She couldn't fault Corin, she supposed. He'd given her father every possible chance to back down. And he could have simply called for Loghain's arrest upon his refusal to surrender his office, not given him the opportunity for single combat. He had been in no way obliged to do that.

But it didn't change the fact that in the next few minutes, her father was probably going to die.

* * *

><p>Alistair circled warily, watching Loghain, waiting for the least indication that he was going to attack. He still didn't believe he was actually here. When Loghain had slandered Bryce Cousland soon after their entrance into the Landsmeet, he had figured that Corin would go ahead and fight the Regent, if that became necessary. And while Alistair wouldn't have been happy with that, he would have understood. The father who had loved and formed Corin his entire life took precedence over the man who had stood in a father's place to Alistair for a mere six months.<p>

But when the time had come to confront his nemesis, Corin had merely smiled that diffident, Corin smile and said, "Alistair will be my champion." Had kept his promise and had put his life and the lives of all of them into Alistair's hands.

It had been an act of utter faith and trust, and Alistair was determined not to fail his friend. _"You need to take him __**down, **__Alistair, or we're all dead."_

You couldn't achieve the final levels of Templar training without some self-awareness. Alistair Theirin knew his strengths were those of endurance and persistence, and sheer, unalloyed stubbornness. Corin's was quicksilver brilliance-between the darkspawn voices in his head and his own brain nattering at him non-stop, continually analyzing all the possible ramifications of every move he made five years into the future, it was no wonder that the man couldn't sleep. Alistair wasn't stupid, he knew that despite Morrigan's continued assertions to the contrary, but he operated on a more intuitive level. Every great once in a while, he would come up with an observation or a suggestion that would make Corin's jaw drop. But when the inevitable query came as to how he'd come to that conclusion, he could never answer. _Something _was apparently very busy in the depths of his brain: it just couldn't be bothered to talk to _him_.

_Ah. Here we go. _Loghain bellowed a war cry that bounced off Alistair's shield and charged forward. Alistair braced himself and they met in a clash of steel. Loghain's sword lifted, swung, was parried. Alistair took a swing in his turn, which was also parried. The two exchanges told him what he needed to know. _This is possible. I can win this. He's good, but I'm as good, maybe even better. And I'm a whole lot younger._

Corin's words from the other day echoed in his head. _"You're my rock. You do know that, don't you?" _He did know it, and it was time for him to play to his strengths. Rocks endured.

_Not much strategy needed, when all is said and done. Wear him down._

* * *

><p>Utter silence in the Landsmeet chamber, save for the clanging of sword on armor and shield, the scraping of armored boots on stone and the rasping breaths of the two warriors in the center of the room. Everyone there had either fought with or had grown up with tales of the Hero of River Dane. Now they saw why the Orlesians had fallen before him.<p>

Outside of his companions, Anora, Teagan and Eamon, no one there had ever seen Alistair Theirin fight. And there were those present who wondered why Corin Cousland, who at a very young age had won a burgeoning reputation on the tournament circuit, would have let Theirin fight in his stead. Now they found out why.

Loghain might as well have been pounding his sword against a cliff face. Alistair Theirin was no Orlesian. He was as Fereldan as they came, boots firmly planted on the stone, immovable and obdurate. Loghain's war cry had blasted countless enemies before him. Theirin just suffered it, head tucked between hunched shoulders. He did not fall, he did not falter. Loghain Mac Tir gave his best and it was deflected or parried or simply endured. Theirin was not doing much in the way of offense himself at all, just the bare minimum to keep a good rhythm going, to fool Loghain, make him spend his strength and wind in futile attack. Those who were warriors themselves knew what was going on, and were a little surprised to see that Teyrn Loghain didn't seem to see it.

* * *

><p>Cauthrien knew that he did not see it, and that, more than anything else she'd seen this last year told her how far her lord had fallen. She had slipped into the Landsmeet some moments after Cousland and Theirin had, unable to stay away. And had watched as Cousland, as he had promised, had done what he could. Cauthrien had watched her lord try to lie and flail his way out of charges that were too easily substantiated, had seen him rant about the Orlesians even in the face of the incontrovertible fact that the Blight was a far greater threat, had seen him repudiated by his countrymen. And had seen Cousland give him every chance to step down, and when he would not, give him one last chance to battle. She had no quarrel with Corin Cousland, but she did not see any way this could possibly end well. Either her lord would prevail, which was looking increasingly unlikely, and she would have to spend the rest of the day killing people who really didn't deserve to be killed, or her lord would yield and either be executed immediately, or suffer the indignity of a trial.<p>

Watching Cousland watch the battle with cool dispassion, she suspected the latter. The losses that young man had suffered would not by allayed merely by taking her lord's head. He would want Loghain to squirm before he died, to know dishonor intimately before he sent him to the block. And she could not allow that to happen.

"_That oath no longer binds you,"_ Cousland had said. How little he knew.

* * *

><p><em>It's time<em>, Alistair thought to himself. The speed and force of Loghain's attacks had lessened somewhat while he himself still had plenty of stamina left. He moved into the offense at last, only to have the saturnine face of his enemy brighten and smile wolfishly.

"Hah! That's more like it!" Loghain's attacks intensified once more, became a storm and Alistair wondered if he'd miscalculated after all.

* * *

><p>Cauthrien saw the wolfish smile blossom on her lord's face, saw him meet Theirin's blade joyously, and knew that it was time. Because he was spending his second wind and Theirin was still on his first. There was very little chance he was going to win this fight now, but he didn't realize that yet, and she wasn't about to let him realize that, to know defeat. She began shoving her way through the crowd, to move around to Loghain's rear.<p>

* * *

><p>Loghain Mac Tir found himself in an odd place, almost as if he were waking up for the first time in a year. He'd seen the look this Alistair Theirin had given the Cousland before the battle had begun, and it was to the life the look Maric had given him, once upon a time. The boy fought smart too; unlike Cailan, who had been a disappointment in so many ways. Cailan, who had inherited Maric's good humor and feckless, sweet nature, but none of his wit. And after Maric's death, the contrast had become even more obvious, Loghain's frustration growing ever greater.<p>

_Not being Maric reborn was no reason to betray him, _what was left of his conscience rebuked him.

_No, but setting my daughter aside for that Orlesian whore certainly was! _he told it firmly. If he could only win this battle, he could still turn things around. The first thing he would do would be to spare Maric's much worthier, bastard son. After all, Howe was dead. His poisonously reasonable whisperings, which had always ended in Loghain doing the distastefully expedient rather than the honorable, were forever stilled. As were his incessant demands for more titles, more money, more honors. Bryce's brat had done Loghain a favor there. The Landsmeet would come properly back to heel when he won-they had to, by their own decree. Cousland had miscalculated in giving him that opening. He'd have Eamon and Teagan and Cousland executed, and marry Alistair to Anora. And then things would be as they should be, Ferelden united once more. They'd deal with the Blight, and when the time came, when he saw Maric once more, he'd agree that Loghain had done what he must, and that it was all for the best.

Something slapped him hard on the back. _Who would dare! This is a __**single**__ combat! _He tried to raise his shield, to guard against Theirin while he took a quick look for the second opponent, but it wouldn't rise because it was hung upon the tip of the blade that was projecting out of his chest. _Do I know that sword? _he barely had time to wonder, before he was falling, slipping sideways into the dark.

* * *

><p>Corin was over to the side with Anora, on Alistair's sword side, where he could get a good look at the fight. He was pleased with the ways things were going, though he suspected his betrothed was not-Alistair had Loghain's measure and was playing him like a fisherman played a fish before gigging it. Would Loghain yield? Corin hoped that he would, and then he could be imprisoned and set out of the way until after the Blight was dealt with. Loghain's ultimate fate was something he was not entirely ready to deal with. Anora had entered into her compact with Corin with full knowledge of his intentions, but he suspected that intellectually processing something and emotionally doing so were two different things. She would not be Loghain's daughter were she not already planning to fight for his life.<p>

He spied movement in the crowd, saw dragonbone armor the color and quality of his own, and the hilt of a two-handed sword. Cauthrien. He wondered if she had watched the whole Landsmeet, and if so, what she thought of it. Her expression, when she shoved a couple of nobles aside to stand at the edge of the cleared space the two men were fighting in, was certainly grim and sad. _I wish I could have convinced him to stand down, for her sake as well as Anora's. A good knight with a bad master._

And if he hadn't been looking right at her when it happened, he wouldn't have believed that it could be done. That a woman Cauthrien's size could whip that greatsword free of its scabbard and _throw_ it like a dagger, all in one, smooth, whipcord snap of muscle. It was obviously something she'd practiced a lot, perhaps in private, just for fun. The arc of the sword was high enough that it cleared the floor easily, turning end over hilt once before impaling Loghain through the back, heart-high.

He was dead before he hit the floor, Corin knew, as quick and clean a kill as could be made. At his side, he felt Anora start and bite back a cry. People in Cauthrien's vicinity screamed and backed away. Cauthrien herself sank to her knees, hands over her face, sobbing harshly. The noise level in the room rose to thunderous as those who had seen turned to those who had not, to impart the news.

Corin looked down at the Queen. Her face was pale as salt and she was trembling a little. He put an arm carefully around her, and she did not rebuff him, instead leaning heavily against his side. He could hear her struggling to take deep, slow breaths.

"I'm sorry, I 'm so sorry, Anora," he murmured, but she shook her head.

"It was not the worst thing that could happen. And you did warn me."

"I didn't expect _this._"

Out in the center of the floor, Alistair had sheathed his sword and slung his shield, shaking his head a little as if to clear it from the fighter's rush. He approached Loghain, knelt, then carefully pulled the greatsword free. It clanged against the floor with an incongruously sweet, humming note as he set it down. He then placed his hand against the teyrn's throat. After a few moments, he looked across to Corin and shook his head. Silence fell, punctuated only by Cauthrien's weeping.

Eamon stepped forward and gestured to the nearest Redcliffe men. "Please take Ser Cauthrien into custody, gentlemen." They moved swiftly to do so, lifting her rather gently by the elbows and half-carrying, half-dragging her from the room. Her sobs diminished with distance, then were silenced.

"Erlina, my cloak please," Anora commanded, her voice almost perfectly steady. The maid handed her a fall of soft black velvet. She shrugged out from under Corin's arm and walked to where her father lay. He followed a couple of paces back. Alistair got to his feet and withdrew as they approached.

There was not as much blood as might be expected, she noticed as she approached, just a small pool beneath his chest. Kneeling carefully to avoid it, she bent over to kiss his cheek, already cooling. His eyes were open, his expression oddly quizzical. She passed her hand over his eyes to close them, then spread the velvet over his body, covering it.

"Goodbye, Father," she whispered. She felt cold and empty, as if a chill wind were passing through her. The only warmth she could feel was Corin's large, bare hand upon her shoulder. Her own chilled hand lifted to rest on top of it and it twined about hers and squeezed gently.

"Revered Mother," she said, then realizing she could not be heard, started to rise. Corin's hand shifted to beneath her elbow to help her. Once she was on her feet, she lifted her head and tried again, pleased to find that her voice was firm.

"Revered Mother. Would you be so kind as to take my father into your care, until such time as a service can be prepared for him?"

"Of course, my child," came the Revered Mother's response, the gentle sympathy a far cry from her earlier anger at the now-dead teyrn. Moments later, six templars made their way through the crowd. Anora could find no fault with the way they handled her father, linking arms in pairs to bear him forth as if on a bier. It was most dignified. She was careful to look anywhere but at the puddle of blood still staining the stone floor.

"I know that this last year has been very difficult for us all," she said, looking around at the assembled nobles. "But it must be remembered that we are free Fereldens because of the man who was just carried from this room. I would hope that you will all join me when the time comes to send his body to the Maker."

"Maker and Andraste keep you, Your Majesty!" someone called and murmurs of sympathy and approval ran around the room.

"Would Your Majesty care for a recess?" Eamon asked. Anora nodded.

"Just a short one, please. Long enough to…clean up?"

"Of course." He turned to the crowd. "The Queen requests that the Landsmeet recess for one hour. We will assemble here again at noon. You are dismissed, lords and ladies." The nobles immediately began to disperse, undoubtedly to get some lunch before what might be a protracted afternoon session.

"Your Majesty, would you care to retire to your rooms?" the arl inquired. Anora nodded again.

"Queen's detail, stay with her. On guard outside her room," Corin told the four who'd accompanied her that morning. "Zev, on stealth on the balcony." He looked at Anora. "Do you want to be alone?"

"Yes, please. Just for a while."

"Very well then." He inclined his head politely, and watched as the mismatched group disappeared into the depths of the palace.

"We're going to go bend some ears," Teagan told Corin and Alistair, who strolled over. "Would you care to come with us?"

"No thank you. I need a bit of peace and quiet after that," Corin said.

"Same here," Alistair agreed. "See you in an hour, sir, Teagan." They departed. Corin looked over at where elven servitors were beginning to drag mops and buckets in and wrinkled his nose.

"Let's go see if we can't find someplace more quiet to wait."

They quickly found a small pocket garden convenient to the Landsmeet chamber. It was a pleasant place and a couple of other lords had found it first, but were convinced to go elsewhere when Sten ambled over and glared wordlessly at them. Corin and Alistair disposed themselves upon one of the benches, while Morrigan prowled the garden, looking to see if there was anything useful for her potion making. When done terrorizing nobles, Sten leaned up against a sunny wall and seemed to bask, his eyes half closed.

"Morrigan," Corin called.

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"I nearly lost it there, early on. And you stopped me. Saved the whole day."

"You are welcome, but it was nothing. If I don't know about your sensitive spots by now…" her voice trailed off as she suddenly stooped to grub around the roots of a plant. Alistair snorted.

"You know, you had Loghain," Corin said to his Warden brother.

"I thought I did. Are you sure?"

"Yes. You were about to outlast him."

"That was the plan." Alistair rolled his shoulders. "Why do you think Cauthrien did it?"

"So that he wouldn't have to stand trial, would be my guess. I'm sorry, but I wasn't going to let you kill him, Alistair."

"You told me to take him down."

"I meant I needed you to defeat him. I didn't need you killing him."

Corin found himself the recipient of a Theirin glare. "You don't think that bastard deserved to die?"

"Oh, several times over, indubitably. But I didn't want you doing it."

"Why _not_?"

"Because if we all manage to live through this, I'm going to need you and Anora both and I don't want you at odds with each other."

"Oh. I hadn't thought of that. Guess it _would_ be a little awkward for you if your wife and your best friend hated each other."

"Definitely."

Alistair frowned. "You know, Cauthrien killed Loghain right as I was starting to pound him into the floor."

"I don't think the timing was accidental. She didn't want him to know that he'd been beaten."

"Well that's just dandy for him, but what about me? I feel like…" he gestured vaguely, his expression frustrated, "…like that thing they talk about in Arcanum, when you get interrupted? Interruptis? Something like that."

"Coitus interruptus?"

"That's the one."

By dint of heroic effort, Corin managed to keep a straight face. "Alistair, that refers to interrupting someone while they're having _sex._"

"Figures. No wonder they didn't cover it in Chantry school. Isn't there one for fighting too? Fightus interruptus or something?"

Corin gave up, threw his head back and just let the laughter wash out of him, easing the stresses and worries of the morning. It went on for quite a while and when it had finally subsided to mere chuckles, he became aware of his warden brother glowering at him. He smiled fondly.

"Don't ever change, brother. I mean it." He clapped Alistair on the back. "Maker, but I love you. And I'm glad you're in one piece." Mollified, Alistair gave him a small smile and clapped his shoulder in return.

"Is anyone besides me feeling queasy?" Morrigan inquired sweetly from behind a shrub. "'Twas a sudden feeling. Came over me just now."

"Shut up, witch!" Alistair growled.

Sten turned his head, surveyed them all magisterially for a moment, then sighed and went back to basking.


	16. Chapter 16

Thanks to all those who reviewed last chapter-Marvey4 (x 2!), mille libri (x2!), Albericus, Cibiripilli, apm (x2!), Ronin Kenshin, spectre4hire, Mike, TheShadowOnTheWall, Jade Ookami, lazyguy90, Rawr1983, none, and anime/videogame freak. Wow, as Alistair would say.

And a further thanks to Mike, Ronin Kenshin, Valin, nymphadora potter, and Apm (x4-every chapter! Thanks so much!), Anon, Rawr1983 and Marvey4 for being so kind as to find and review my _Corin_ prequel _Tilt_. You can find it by doing an author search on my name-apparently links are a no-no here, even for other stories.

I wouldn't mention it, other than that I posted it midweek last week and since I posted all of it at once, I can't update it, so it's way down the list now. That story is why this update was so late. And here you thought I was slacking off!

Additionally, for those of you who would like to know what Corin looks like with his clothes pretty much off (remember Anora's little fantasy about him bathing in the lake?), my good friend Elfkin, who is a professional artist, gave me a picture for my birthday. I'd consider it NSFW, though nothing's really showing. It can be found on elfkin's deviantart account.

Try elfkin (backslash)site name (backslash)art (backslash)Corin-Bathing-266914486

Drool catcher recommended.

Thanks so much for all your kind words and support! This chapter's a lot of necessary bureaucracy before we move back to the action, but hopefully it will please.

* * *

><p>Anora felt as if she were stepping into the past as she paused in front of the chambers she and Cailan had shared. It had been nearly a month since she'd been there. She went to open the door and step in, but was stopped with the lightest of touched on her arm by the former Crow, who shook his head, his golden eyes serious.<p>

"If you will allow me, Your Majesty. Leliana and I will inspect the rooms first."

The bard immediately stepped forward and the two of them, clad in similar armor of an odd, grayish leather, opened the door and slipped inside. If Anora had not known they were there, she would not have discovered it by standing outside the door. They did not speak aloud to each other and she could not hear them moving stealthily about the room.

"They are very good at what they do, Your Majesty," the elderly enchanter said. "And they are serious about keeping you safe."

"You all would appear to be good at what you do," Anora noted. Wynne smiled.

"Yes, I suppose we all contribute in our unique ways." The smile faded. "I am sorry about your father, Your Majesty. Though we had our…differences…with the Teyrn, I do know that it must be difficult to lose your father."

Anora took a deep breath. "Thank you. Though I did not believe there was much chance of this day ending well when I got up this morning, I did still hope that some accommodation might be reached." She folded her arms, bowed her head and tried to think calming thoughts. There was nothing that could be done for her father now, and mourning him would have to wait until later. Wynne, seeing that she was disinclined to talk, said no more. The golem was silent as well.

"All clear," Zevran said after a few moments, sticking his head through the door. Anora moved into the room, Erlina at her heels.

"My lady," said the bard tentatively. Anora turned to her, a little surprised. Leliana had never offered to speak to her before.

"I…have a little book of devotions I carry with me, if you'd like to use it," she said, offering the Queen a book the size of her hand. "I find it comforting. Although I would imagine you must have much nicer things."

Anora studied her for a moment, then accepted the book. "Actually, I do have a book of devotions, but I keep mine in the library. I would like to look at yours. You have my thanks, Leliana." The bard inclined her head and stepped back into the hall. She turned her attention to the assassin, who was offering her an engraved silver flask.

"And I have Antivan brandy, which I find personally works better for me than prayer in times of trouble." Anora, who had in fact found herself craving a drink despite the unseemly hour, laid the book carefully on a small side table and took up the flask. Taking a swig, she found it was not only Antivan brandy, but _good_ Antivan brandy, fruity and complex. It warmed its way down to her stomach nicely. She took a second drink before handing the flask back to the elf.

"You have my thanks, Zevran. That was very nice brandy."

He shrugged. "Corin keeps me well-armored and armed, therefore I have a little coin to spend on pleasures." A courtly bow. "Your Majesty." He went to the open balcony doors, slipped through them and…disappeared. Literally. Anora looked through the door and could not see him, though she knew that he was stationed there.

"Would my lady like to change her gown?" Erlina asked from behind her, gesturing towards her skirt. Anora looked down and found a small blood stain. She shuddered.

"Yes, definitely. Find something darker, Erlina, but formal." The maid nodded and hurried off to Anora's wardrobe room to see what could be made ready.

Anora took the book of devotions back up from the table, and drifted a bit aimlessly towards her desk. In doing so, she passed the royal bed. Pausing for a moment to study it, she let her free hand drift over the brocaded cover, her mind not so much on the man she had shared it with, but on the man she might share it with in the future. Even the merest thought of that brought blood to her cheeks.

_What is __**wrong**__ with you? _she chided herself. _You leave Eamon and Teagan downstairs for an hour to work mischief while you act the part of the grief-stricken maiden. And you are not even considering how you might turn this back around and seize the throne for yourself alone, rid yourself of them and give Ferelden the Queen it needs. The Landsmeet sympathizes with you at present and you should be considering how best to make use of that strong but ephemeral support._

Perhaps it was because she no longer believed that she was the Queen Ferelden needed, at least not herself alone. She was, she realized, full fed up on alone. She'd spent the last months alone, without even Cailan's sometimes provoking but comforting presence, watching the father she loved set her firmly aside and turn into a distant stranger who was enacting policies she couldn't in conscience agree with. Alone, feeling Howe's beady eyes follow her with an acquisitive hunger that repelled. Her heart feeling as if it were encased in ice, a feeling which had not begun to dissipate until the day she'd interviewed a certain Grey Warden.

Then the ice had not only begun to melt, Anora had begun to feel like the young, flirtatious lady she'd certainly never been. Though Corin was enamored of the witch, Anora did not think his interest in her was entirely unfeigned. When she'd let her hair down, the undercurrent of lust in his voice had been genuine. And the mere memory of that growl in his voice made her shiver even now. While there might not be love between them, there was certainly liking, attraction and mutual respect, much more than most political marriages had.

In fact, she found herself wanting him here now, wanting him to hold her in the dim room and let her cry herself out on his shoulder. That was a dangerous path for her thoughts to take; it led to the possibility of losing her hard-held composure, so she went to her desk and sat down in the light from the window. Opening Leliana's little book, she found herself reading the devotions by rote with half her mind, while the other admired the ornate Orlesian illuminations. _An expensive little piece of piety, this is. I wonder if she purchased this with her earnings as a bard, or if it's something she looted during her adventures with Corin? _The devotions were set up as a book of hours, something actually useful for a lay sister, as her agents had told Anora Leliana had been.

"Here, my lady," Erlina said a short while later, bringing in an armful of dresses and laying them out on the bed. Anora closed the book and came over to look at the choices. The first one was a carmine red dress that looked well with her hair and brought a reflected blush to her cheeks, but she did not wish to wear anything red right now. It brought that puddle of blood back to her mind. The second one was a brown and gold confection that she'd worn before. It looked well on her, but was not her favorite by any means. The third was a dress of dark blue brocade, accented with lighter blue silk and trimmed in gold.

"The blue I think, Erlina." Not only did it bring out the blue in her eyes and the gold of her hair, the color would please Corin.

Erlina went to get her robe and helped her remove the gown and chemise she'd put on that morning. Then she seated her mistress in front of the mirror and touched up her cosmetics. Anora's hair was swiftly undone, combed out and braided back up; then she was helped to don the new gown and a fresh chemise. Erlina was doing up the last of the hooks when a knock came at the door and Wynne's voice informed them that the Landsmeet was convening once more.

Anora collected her oddly assorted escort, the assassin materializing as mysteriously as he had vanished, and gave the book of devotions back to Leliana with quiet thanks. Then they set off back downstairs to the Landsmeet chamber.

* * *

><p>Everyone had finally filtered back to the Landsmeet chamber and the din of voices was tumultuous, echoing a bit off of the stone walls. Eamon, Alistair and Corin were standing in the center of the room. The smile he gave her when he saw Anora made her glad she'd changed the gown. He met her halfway as she moved to join them and bent his head close, giving her a concerned look.<p>

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, but I would like to get this over with."

"Of course."

"Your Majesty, would you care to address the Landsmeet?" Eamon said loudly, informing the others that they were back in session. _He honestly trusts me not to yank this out from under him, and so does Corin,_ she realized. It also occurred to her that in the absence of her father and Ser Cauthrien, she had an army at her disposal-if she could convince it to follow her. But the idea of repaying the trust she'd been given with betrayal was repugnant. There'd been more than enough betrayal this last year. _It is long past time that people started thinking about what was best for the realm, rather than for themselves. And that includes me. If we do not achieve some unity of purpose, the Blight will take us all. _She took a moment to marshal her thoughts, before she spoke in a firm and decisive voice.

"Thank you, Arl Eamon," she said, inclining her head to the arl. "This has been a tumultuous day for us all, and I know that we all have questions about what is the best way to proceed from this point. But I would like our first order of business to be what seems to be a digression, but nonetheless has bearing upon our ultimate purpose today." She threw Corin a quick glance to warn him of what was coming.

"I refer to the massacre at Highever. And that is exactly what it was. There is a due process of law in Ferelden. Such serious charges as the late Teyrn Bryce Cousland were accused of should have resulted in his arrest and in his being brought before the Landsmeet to answer his accusers. Because Cailan was in the field, I was taking care of much of the kingdom's business in his absence, as was his wish. I do not recollect any warrant for the Teyrn's arrest crossing my desk, or any such proofs. I will ask all of you assembled now if any of _you _had knowledge of any proof that such an accusation might have validity."

Bann Sighard spoke. "Your Majesty, I was very troubled by the events at Highever, particularly when Teyrn Loghain saw fit to award the teyrnir to Rendon Howe, along with the Arldom of Denerim. I spoke to the Regent privately about the matter and he said that Howe had given him ample proof of the accusation and that he was satisfied as to the Teyrn's guilt and that such proof would be produced the next time the Landsmeet was called. Which of course it was not until Arl Eamon did so."

Bann Wulff raised his voice. "On my last visit to Denerim before the Blight took my lands, I expressed the same concerns to Howe himself and received the pretty much same answer, Your Majesty. Though Rendon Howe was more vehement about the Teyrn's 'treachery'."

Corin stirred beside her. She resisted the temptation to take his arm. "Warden Cousland, would you care to address the Landsmeet?"

"I would, Your Majesty." He looked up at the balcony, where the Revered Mother stood. "Revered Mother, would you take my oath?"

"I will, my son."

He stepped forward and drew his sword. Starfang glowed bluely and a murmur arose from the crowd. Resting the point upon the stone and his hands upon the pommel, Corin declared, "I do hereby declare on my sword and honor that what I am about to speak here is true, in the Maker's name and that of his Bride on Thedas, Andraste."

"Your oath is witnessed, my son," the Revered Mother responded. "Speak you the truth." Corin inclined his head respectfully and sheathed his sword.

"Thank you, Revered Mother." Lifting his head, he addressed the assembly. "I will speak in brief of what I witnessed the night that Highever fell. Lord Howe had come to stay with us the day before, in advance of his men. He apologized to my father for their tardiness. It was decided that my brother Fergus would depart with Highever's troops to Ostagar that day, and that my father and Arl Howe would follow with Arl Howe's troops on the following day. My brother said goodbye to us and marched out that afternoon. Warden Commander Duncan was staying with us. It had been said that he was looking for recruits and he in fact suggested that I might make a good recruit. I wasn't particularly interested in being a Grey Warden and told him so, and my father was very resistant to the idea. The rest of the afternoon and evening were uneventful. Howe dined with us and seemed much his usual self. I was excited, because my father had named me regent in his absence and I was looking forward to actually having a chance to put what I'd learned all my life into practice." He paused and took a deep breath before continuing. Anora gave him a sympathetic look.

"Continue when you feel able, Warden."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I had…found company for the evening, a very delightful young lady. Sometime in the small hours of the morning, she and I were awakened by the sound of shouting. My mabari, Pooka, was growling. Before I could stop her, she opened the door and was cut down. I grabbed my sword and fought my first two assailants in my small clothes, then was able to close and bar the door long enough to armor myself. When I emerged, I found my mother, also armored, with her bow in hand. We went first to my brother's chambers across the hall and found that his wife and seven-year-old son had been slain. My dead attackers were wearing Howe's arms and by that we deduced that the arl's men were not late, that he'd held them back intentionally until Fergus had taken the majority of our men away, and that he intended to take the castle with no quarter given." A rustle of muted outrage ran around the room.

"They spared no one. I found Mother Maillol slain, my old tutor, our pages, the servants…everyone who couldn't defend themselves was dead. Mother and I fought our way to the family treasury and retrieved the Cousland sword and shield, then made our way to the main hall. There we found Ser Roland Gilmore and some of our other men holding the main gate. They'd apparently managed to blockade it to prevent more troops from entering. Ser Roland told us that my father was seriously wounded and had gone to the kitchen. There was a secret passage off of it. Roland suggested that we meet him and escape while we could, as he could not hold the gate for long." Corin closed his eyes for a moment. "Maker keep Ser Roland and all those brave men." There were some echoing responses of "Maker keep them."

"When we reached the kitchen," Corin continued, "we found my father in a pool of his own blood. He told us that he'd been set upon unarmed and unarmored and had only barely escaped. He said that he was too sorely injured to escape with us and urged us to leave him. At that point, Warden-Commander Duncan appeared. He told my father that he would see me and my mother safe through Howe's men if my father agreed to let me join the Grey Wardens. He said that I was needed more against the Blight than to take vengeance against Howe."

"That's a bit cold-blooded," Alfstanna said, frowning.

"So I thought as well, but my father agreed to it and made me swear that I would join the Wardens. Then my mother said that she wouldn't leave Father and would buy us time to make our escape. Duncan dragged me out of there. We somehow got through Howe's men and started on our way down to Ostagar."

Corin rubbed the back of his neck with a gauntleted hand. Anora suspected that he was really wanting to pace as was his usual habit, but was refraining from doing so in order that everyone could hear him.

"When we got to Ostagar, we were greeted by King Cailan, _who knew nothing of what was going on._" A pause for a moment, to let that sink into his audience's brains. "Odd, isn't it? You're the king, one of your two greatest nobles is committing treason with the Orlesians and neither you _nor_ your queen have been informed? The king promised me that justice would be served, but said that we had to deal with the darkspawn first. I told him I wished to tell my brother of the deaths of our entire family and he told me that Fergus was out scouting in the Korcori Wilds and was expected to return before the next battle. Needless to say, Fergus never did return and has been missing ever since. I may be overly suspicious, but I do have to wonder if my brother met his demise at the hands of darkspawn, Chasind-or perhaps Howe's agents." Another round of muttering, this time sounding speculative.

"There's not much else to tell," Corin concluded. "I also spoke to Teyrn Loghain upon the matter and he assured me that Cailan would see that the matter was looked into. He never said anything else about it. Whether he knew what was going on or not…I honestly don't know. I do find the timing of the attack on Highever and Cailan's betrayal to be extremely suspicious."

"As do I," Anora said. He gave her a surprised look.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. In any event, I would like the writ of attainder on my father to be lifted, and for his name to be cleared." He drew Starfang once more. "I declare here before this company that Howe's accusations against my father were untrue, vile calumny of the basest sort, and that his attack upon Highever was not motivated by any treason of my father's but by overwhelming greed on his part. I stand ready to defend with my body and my sword against anyone who would say otherwise and slander my father's name."

A moment or two passed without any one speaking.

"No takers. What a surprise," Alistair muttered in Corin's ear. Corin looked at him and his grim expression lightened into a small smile as he sheathed his sword.

"Given Rendon Howe's recent activities and the atrocities he had committed against several of our noble houses," Alfstanna said, looking at Bann Sighard, "I do not find it hard to believe that he fabricated the charges and proof against Teyrn Cousland in order to acquire the teyrnir for himself."

"Arl Howe's last words as he lay dying were, 'Maker spit on you, I deserved more,'" Corin said dryly.

"If two arldoms and a teyrnir did not satisfy him, one wonders what would," Anora remarked. Some offended commentary broke out at that. Loghain's heavy-handed preference of Howe was not obviously something that was going to be forgotten soon.

"I think you know the answer to that," Corin said. "I suspect a crown might have done it." More offended murmurs.

When they subsided, Alfstanna spoke again. "As the only surviving Cousland, do you claim the teyrnir of Highever, Warden Cousland?"

"I do, in the absence of my brother Fergus."

"The motion before the Landsmeet is to cancel the writ of attainder for the crime of treason that was issued against Bryce Cousland and his family," Eamon declared formally, "to declare him innocent of all charges and to confirm his only known remaining heir, his son Corin Cousland, in his title of Teyrn of Highever. All opposed?"

There was a dead silence. Ceorlic twitched, looked like he might start to speak, looked around at his fellows and subsided.

"All who approve?" A cheer broke out that nearly rocked the rafters.

"Your peers have spoken," Eamon said with a warm smile. "If Her Majesty does not object?"

"Her Majesty approves. Highly," Anora said with a smile of her own.

"If you would be so kind, Revered Mother," Eamon asked. The Revered Mother came down from her balcony to witness the vows.

Starfang came out a third time as Corin knelt before Anora, gauntlets stripped for this, bare hands on the pommel. His were the cold hands this time and she wrapped her own hands around them to warm and steady them, for the tiniest of shivers was running through him as he said his vows. But his voice was rock-steady as he spoke.

"I, Corin Cousland, Teyrn of Highever, do here swear homage and fealty to the crown of Ferelden. I pledge obedience to the Crown; to come and to go, to act and to refrain, to speak and be silent at the Crown's behest. And should I ever fail in this charge, may the sea drown me, the earth swallow me and the sky fall upon my head. In the name of the Maker and Andraste, and in the presence of this company, I do so swear."

"The Crown hears your oath and answers with this promise. That fealty will be rewarded with love, valor with honor and oath-breaking with vengeance. So say We, Anora, Queen of Ferelden. Let the Maker and Andraste witness."

"So may it be," Corin responded. There were tears glittering on his cheeks and only Anora and possibly the Reverend Mother could hear him when he whispered, "There, Father. It's done."

A year and more to get to this moment, of almost non-stop fighting and striving, a sizeable portion of a very young man's life. Anora didn't know if it was true, that those at the Maker's side could still look down and watch their loved ones in the world below, but she thought that if it was, Bryce and Eleanor Cousland must be bursting with pride. She knew, as few in this room would believe, that the crown was secondary to what Corin had just accomplished. This was his true victory.

An odd feeling of tenderness swept over her. _I have certainly become softer since I met Corin,_ she thought, a bit disgruntled, but the heart to be truly annoyed was not in her. On impulse, her hands rose from his, her thumbs smoothing his tears away as a mother would, and then moved to cup his face. _Let us not travel down __**that **__road! _To eliminate that odious comparison, there was only one thing that could be done. Anora the cool, Anora the collected, Anora the scathingly analytical, threw caution, dignity and respect to the winds, bent her head, turned it just enough-and laid a kiss on Corin Cousland's lips in front of the whole Landsmeet.

She saw the sadness in his eyes give way to pleased surprise. Her own sadness seemed to recede to a distance for the moment as well. Was that _Alistair_ whooping in the background like some sort of demented, lovelorn bird? Her betrothed snaked an arm about her and then somehow managed to get to his feet, carrying her up with him while never breaking the kiss. Anora was dimly aware of Corin holding his sword out to the side and Alistair taking it, then his other arm wrapped around her as well. There was an absolute tumult of sound ringing in her ears, and after a moment, the part of her brain that could detach from what Corin's tongue was doing with hers realized that it was the Landsmeet and people were _cheering_ and _laughing_ and the whole somber, serious air of the room was completely changed and lightened, filled in the face of approaching doom with something that might almost be called joy.

"I think we might be able to discern the next bit of business, Your Majesty," Alfstanna called down when the two of them finally came up for air. More cheering and laughter. Corin set Anora back down on her feet, which was the first time she realized that she'd actually been lifted off of them. _He has a terrible habit of doing that. I suppose he doesn't want to get a crick in his neck, stooping. _ She smoothed her hair and for some reason, that small gesture started the laughter anew.

"Does Her Majesty wish to bring another piece of business before the Landsmeet?" Eamon inquired, his eyes twinkling.

"I do," Anora declared, taking Corin by the hand, and stepping forward.

"You all recognize this armor. It is not a replica. It is my late husband's armor, brought back from Ostagar along with Maric's sword by this man, who dared go where none of us would. He also found Cailan's body, gave it a proper pyre and brought the ashes home to me. I can never thank him enough for the peace and closure that brought me." She lifted her head to scan the balconies.

"It is…difficult to speak ill of my father, whom I loved all my life and 'tis said that it does not become one to speak ill of the dead, who cannot defend themselves. Nonetheless, I believe that it is apparent to us all that my father and Rendon Howe started Ferelden down a path that led to our nation becoming something else entirely, where honest dissension was quashed, where our most vulnerable citizens were sold into slavery in a foreign country, where those who stood at the pinnacle of power were rewarded with riches beyond measure while those beneath them suffered. All of this was accomplished while the gravest danger that has ever threatened our land was ignored-until it was almost too late." Turning, she gave Corin a sad smile, felt the answering squeeze of his hand.

"This young man has suffered sorrow almost beyond imagining, the slaughter of his entire family as well as all the people and friends he grew up with. Despite that, for the past year, he has striven tirelessly to repair what damage he could and to prepare Ferelden to fight the Blight." She gestured to Eamon. "He saved Arl Eamon and his family from undead monsters, thus preserving Redcliffe's forces-and one of our best commanders." Anora inclined her head to Eamon, who bowed in response. "He has gathered armies of non-human allies to bolster our ranks, to replace the men lost at Ostagar. He has restored the rule of law to Denerim's back streets and uncovered the shame that was the selling of Fereldens into slavery. These are but a few of the many things he has accomplished since Ostagar, and in all his actions, he has conducted himself with the honor and courage we know that all Fereldans can exhibit. As no other man has, Corin Cousland has reminded us of what we Fereldens truly are and what we can accomplish. For that reason, I have proposed marriage to him and he has accepted. And for that reason, I think it best that he and I rule Ferelden together as your King and Queen."

There was a long moment of silence, punctuated by some whispered comments among the bannorn. Then Alfstanna spoke, gesturing towards Alistair.

"And what of Alistair Theirin? The Teyrn named him as his champion during the fight. Many of us felt certain that Eamon intended to put him forward as the King. The last thing Ferelden needs now is another civil war."

"If I may address the Landsmeet, Your Majesty?" Alistair asked, looking at Anora. She nodded, and he stepped forward.

"My father was very concerned about that very possibility, my lady. He was adamant that Arl Eamon raise me to understand that it would never be my place to rule Ferelden, lest I threaten King Cailan's rule. Arl Eamon accomplished that task very well. I don't have any desire to supplant whoever the Landsmeet declares is Ferelden's lawful king and queen. I honestly don't think that I would do a very good job. After my young years in Arl Eamon's house, I was sent to the Chantry to train as a Templar, and was conscripted to be a Grey Warden when my training was almost complete by Warden-Commander Duncan." Alistair was oblivious as usual, but Corin snuck a look at the Revered Mother, who was glowering again.

"After Ostagar, I was devastated by the loss of my fellow Wardens, and even though Corin had lost so much more than I and I was his superior Warden, I pretty much dumped all of the decision-making onto him. I've never regretted doing so, and I'd honestly prefer to keep following him rather than the other way around." He paused to give his Warden brother a fond smile, which was returned. "As the son of a teyrn, Corin was raised up to govern people. I wasn't. And I don't think that what Ferelden needs right now is someone who requires on-the-job training." Several of the banns chuckled at this.

Corin watched him proudly. Whether he realized it or not, Alistair had come a long way in the past year. He couldn't imagine the junior Warden he'd met at Ostagar addressing the Landsmeet with this firm, folksy sincerity, and winning them over in the process.

"That's not to say that I'm not aware I do hold a responsibility because of my father's blood," Alistair continued earnestly. "So the Queen and Corin and I are in agreement that if Corin should fall in battle, then _I_ will marry her. She knows ruling very well and I think we would manage well enough together. If both of us are killed, then Queen Anora will rule by herself."

"And if we should both survive, and Alistair should have heirs while Anora and I do not, then they will inherit the throne," Corin declared.

"Let me get this straight," Wulff growled. "We've got a proposed chain of succession that is three deep? Anora and Corin, then Anora and Alistair, then Anora alone?"

"That is correct, sir," Alistair responded.

"And people are acting like grown-ups about the succession? Putting the good of the country first? Has Ferelden ever had such a thing before?"

"Not in _my_ memory," Teagan quipped. More laughter.

"How is this to be done?" the Bann of West Hills demanded.

"Although Corin and I have pledged our troth to each other, it has not been finalized before witnesses," Anora said. "So I think it best that we do that now, in front of all of you, and that Corin be named Crown Prince and Commander of the Armies, with the wedding and coronation to follow once the Blight is ended."

"Works for me," Alfstanna commented.

"Then let us put it to the vote," Eamon said. "The motion before the Landsmeet is that Anora, Queen of Ferelden and Teyrna of Gwaren and Corin Cousland, Teyrn of Highever, will be betrothed and that Corin Cousland will be named Crown Prince of Ferelden. That in the fullness of time and after the ending of the Blight, the two of them will wed, and Corin Cousland will be crowned King of Ferelden and rule in consort with Queen Anora. All those opposed?"

Silence. "Wow. Guess they do like you a little bit after all, huh?" Alistair whispered to Corin, a huge grin on his face. Corin's armored elbow chinked softly against Alistair's armored side in remonstrance, but he was smiling as well.

"All those in favor?" Eamon asked, and once again a roar echoed through the Landsmeet. When it died, he asked, "Revered Mother, if you would be so kind?"

The Revered Mother stepped forward, smiling once more. "This is always one of my most pleasant duties," she announced to the assembled nobles. "Will the couple who wish to be betrothed step forward and present their left hands?" Corin and Anora did so. The Revered Mother produced a small stole, more like a piece of ribbon than anything else, from somewhere in her robes and looped it around their hands, loosely binding them together.

"The Maker loves best those times when a man and a woman make the decision to join their lives together in love to create life, paying homage to the Maker's greater act of creating our world. Betrothal is the first step along that road. Do you, Anora Mac Tir Theirin, Queen of Ferelden, plight your troth before this company to Corin Cousland, Teyrn of Highever?"

"I do," Anora said firmly, glancing sideways at Corin, who smiled gently in return.

"And do you, Corin Cousland, Teyrn of Highever, plight your troth before this company to Anora Mac Tir Theirin, Queen of Ferelden?"

"I do," he said with equal firmness, actually turning his head so that he could wink at Anora without the Revered Mother seeing. She found herself having to stifle a snort. _Cocky boy._

"As you have sworn before this company, I declare you to be betrothed in the Maker's name," the Revered Mother said, "and hope that in the fullness of time you will take the further oath of marriage as husband and wife." She released their hands and they turned to face the Landsmeet hand in hand. Cheers and applause broke out. When they had subsided, the Revered Mother addressed Corin.

"Teyrn Cousland, take a knee please."

He did so, drawing his sword one last time. The Revered Mother was not Sister Agnetha; she kept her hands at a proper distance above his head.

"Corin Cousland, your Queen and your peers of the Landsmeet have declared you worthy of the Crown of Ferelden. This is a grave charge, for while all men bear responsibility for their own souls before the Maker, the ruler also bears responsibility for the welfare, physical and spiritual, of all the subjects of his realm. It is his sacred duty to be foremost in battle, but it is also equally his duty to be fair in judgment and generous of spirit to even the least of his subjects. Are you willing to assume this burden before the Maker and his Bride?"

"I am," Corin declared resolutely, his eyes dry. Having restored his father's good name, it seemed that nothing else would daunt him this day.

"Do you swear to defend Ferelden in war even unto death, and to do your utmost in times of peace to see that the fruits of prosperity are available to all within this realm?"

"I do."

"Then rise you royal, Corin Cousland, Teyrn of Highever, and Crown Prince of Ferelden." Getting to his feet and sheathing his sword, Corin bowed to the Revered Mother, then turned and moved back to Anora's side while the Landsmeet roared approval.

"Me first!" Alistair declared loud enough to be heard over the tumult as Arl Eamon approached. "Congratulations, _Your Royal Highness_! And may I say I've never been more relieved in my life!"

"I should not be as relieved as all that, Alistair," Anora said with a cool smile. "If I recollect, I believe Corin said he had plans for you."

"There _are _currently a couple of arldoms going begging," Corin noted.

"Indeed," Anora agreed. Alistair looked from one to the other, horrified.

"All right. I knew that both of you could be scary by yourselves, but together…together you are a force of scariness the like of which the world has never seen."

"That _was_ the plan," said the Queen. Corin merely lifted an eyebrow meaningfully.

"My congratulations to you both," Eamon said with a smile. "Hopefully, this will be the start of better times for Ferelden. Should we finish this up now?"

"_Please_," said Anora. Corin gave her a concerned look and she squeezed his hand. "It has been a long day and I need some quiet time and some food."

"Huh. Alistair and I never got lunch either. Which means Alistair must be nearly prostrate with hunger. We'd best do something about that before he starts gnawing on the furniture."

"Hey!"

"Is there any more business before the Landsmeet before we adjourn?" Eamon called out. Ceorlic actually raised his voice.

"Yes! I wish to know what is going to happen to the knight who slew Teyrn Loghain and destroyed our best hope of victory!" Angry muttering broke out and the banns to either side of him turned to argue with him vociferously. Corin raised a hand, and the noise died away.

"The Crown will decide Ser Cauthrien's fate. After due consideration," he said, with a glance at Anora. "Is there anything else?" After a moment with no response he continued. "Much as we would like the kingdom to celebrate our betrothal, this is really not the time, with the Blight upon us. But the Queen and I do thank you all for your good wishes. Tomorrow morning, the bannorn will meet with us here. Be prepared to give us the tally of the men you can bring against the Blight. Teyrn Loghain will repose in state in Denerim Chantry until tomorrow evening, when we will have his service, which we hope you will all attend. The following morning, the army will set out for Redcliffe, where we will rendezvous with our allies and seek the source of the Blight, to end it once and for all. A good afternoon to you all."


	17. Chapter 17

I usually thank and list everyone who reviewed the last chapter, but we've had major rain here and my DSL is down. I thought you all might like to have the next chapter, so I went over to a friend's house with it on a thumb drive and am posting it there. I'm under a pressure of time here, so I'll just say thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story even once and many thanks to my regulars!

This is a bit of a filler chapter. I've fixed the little problem I created for myself in Tilt in this one and promise you-there will be smut in the next!

* * *

><p>When a woman has seen her father slain before her very eyes and been betrothed all in the space of two hours, it is difficult to discern the best way to offer congratulations on the latter while not being insensitive about the former. The nobles who approached Anora and Corin after the Landsmeet was closed made their congratulations subdued and most issued condolences as well. Very little of this was enough to cause Anora to retreat to her rooms, Corin at her side at her insistence, while Alistair took the others in search of lunch.<p>

Seating herself on the sofa in her sitting room, she looked up at her betrothed, who was leaning carefully against the wall in his armor.

"We need to have your things brought to the Palace this afternoon," she said, rubbing her temple wearily.

"Didn't you ask for some food and some peace and quiet?" Corin asked. "Let's see to that first. Erlina, do you think you could find someone to bring the Queen and myself some lunch?"

The maid curtseyed. "Of courze, Your Royal Highness. And eef you would like to get out of your armor, I can see eef some clothing can be found for you."

"Something simple, if you don't mind."

"Those things the tailor had made for Cailan that came after he left for Ostagar might serve, Erlina," Anora said. The maid nodded and departed. "There's an armor rack in the other room if you'd care to use it."

"This feels a little odd, I must admit," Corin said. "Much as I like to plan things in advance, I didn't exactly give a lot of thought to the living arrangements afterwards."

"The Blight is the first order of business, of course. But it would look strange if you continued to stay at Eamon's after being named Crown Prince. If you think you can bear it, the Cousland suite can be opened up. There are certainly enough rooms there to house your friends comfortably." Anora sighed, rubbing her arms. "I wanted to thank you, by the way. After what my father did to you, you were very gracious in the way you handled the question of his service and the pyre."

Corin shrugged. "How could I do otherwise? I would not injure you by disrespecting him and his accomplishments are undeniable, both the good and the bad. I will stand with you tomorrow night. Though were I you, I would not insist upon Alistair's attendance."

"No, of course not. I would not insist upon anyone's attendance. But I am that glad you will be there." She looked up at him and her brow furrowed. Gesturing towards the seat beside her, she said, "Please come and sit down, Corin. I appreciate your concern for my furniture, but it is the least of my worries at the moment and you're going to put a crick in my neck. We have some things to discuss."

The newly-minted Crown Prince smiled and obligingly came over and settled gently onto the sofa. "Sorry about that. Will you be going with me to Redcliffe? I've been wondering about that. I know that your father taught you something of fighting."

"I was never a Cauthrien, or even anything close," Anora admitted. "It was more teaching me some self-defense than anything else and I've certainly not kept my hand in lately. I'm thinking that it might be best if I remain here in Denerim to handle anything that comes up here-provide a stable royal presence, if you will."

"Are you certain? I don't wish you to think that you are being excluded or marginalized. I would imagine you've had enough of that over the last year."

It was Anora's turn to shrug. "This is my choice, so why would I think that? You were correct when you said that my strengths were in peacetime governance. Yours are more in the strategic and military area, and we both seem to have a knack for diplomacy. We can be more efficient and accomplish much more if we can resign ourselves to the occasional separation."

"That is true, I suppose. Though we don't have to like it."

"No, we don't have to like it." Anora gave her young fiancé a bemused look. _Gracious, that sounded almost affectionate!_ "There is something else, Corin," she said after a moment, emboldened by his statement. "Something…personal."

"And that is?"

"We're betrothed now, and if we were to…conceive a child, that child would be legitimate. This is…a good time for me to be thinking of that, if you understand. The right time of the moon, as it were."

Corin's eyebrow lifted. "I was under the impression that you were not in any particular hurry to fulfill your conjugal duties."

Anora felt her cheeks heat in a very uncharacteristic lapse of control. "It is true that the bedchamber was an area of…discord between Cailan and myself. But I am not a young woman and my opportunities to get a child are not infinite. Given my history, none of them should be wasted. Also, you are going into battle and if something should happen to you, then we would never…be able to…I think I would regret that."

Big hands folded gently around hers and those intense blue eyes moved searchingly over her face. "Are you sure? We don't need to rush into this. I didn't want you to feel pressured. I wanted you to have a chance to enjoy it."

"It is a pressure I am well accustomed to, Corin. I knew it my entire married life with Cailan. But you've been honest with me and I want to be honest with you. I have little aptitude for bed-sport. Cailan had lovers for a reason. I don't want you to be disappointed-" A finger pressed against her lips, shushing her.

"That's enough of that," Corin said firmly. "I don't have any preconceptions about what we'll be like together and I don't want you to have them either. Let's just find out for ourselves, shall we?" Anora nodded. "Tonight, then?"

"Yes, I think that best. I won't feel like doing anything of the kind tomorrow night." Maker, she was blushing like a young girl! Corin lifted her hand and kissed it.

"I look forward to it."

Anora squeezed his hand in return and bent her head for a moment to collect her thoughts. "There is something else I wished to discuss with you," she said at last. "What do you think should be done with Cauthrien?"

She found herself the recipient of one of Corin's direct looks. "You won't like what I have in mind."

"Tell me anyway."

"I won't know if it's possible until I speak to Riordan. There's something we need that I'm not sure he's recovered yet."

It took a moment to work it through, but only a moment. "You want to make her a Grey Warden. One of those gallows-snatchings you spoke of." Anora's voice sounded flat in her own ears.

"Yes. Or more precisely, to give her a choice. I'll tell her exactly what's involved in being a Grey Warden and give her the choice. If she refuses, I'll kill her myself right then and there."

"I thought you wouldn't ask your worst enemy to join the Wardens."

"Cauthrien's not my worst enemy. But she _is_ about the most bad-ass fighter in Ferelden. Took on both Alistair and myself and did very well. It seems a waste to execute her when I can point her at the Archdemon instead."

Anora considered the idea for a moment, remembering Cauthrien's heartbroken sobbing as she was dragged from the Landsmeet and the talk she'd had with the lanky, earnest knight before walking into Howe's estate.

"Odd as it sounds, and I know it's no comfort, she did it because she loved him," Corin said softly.

"I know that. Perhaps better than you do. And in a way, she saved Father's legend, though she couldn't save his life. It is not what it once was, but had he stood trial, it would have been utterly destroyed." Anora studied the table before her. "The Joining itself might kill her, might it not?" she said at last.

"It might very well. There's no way to tell in advance. If there was, I'm sure the Wardens wouldn't recruit people they knew would die."

"And if she survives, the Archdemon or the other darkspawn may slay her. But she will have been useful in the meantime."

"Indeed."

"You don't really have enough Wardens, do you?"

"No. There were a couple dozen at Ostagar and we could have used every one of them. I think Riordan will go along with this."

"He won't like you telling Cauthrien Warden secrets."

Corin shrugged. "I could care. And it's a moot point, since she won't be walking out of Drakon alive unless she's a Warden."

An abrupt nod. "Very well. I do not object. But if she survives the joining and the Blight, I want her kept out of my sight. She doesn't come to court."

Corin nodded in his turn. "Understood. But I don't think that will become an issue. Even if we stop the Blight, the darkspawn will still be a problem for some time to come afterwards as they withdraw from the surface. Cauthrien will be kept busy. And we can always send her to Weisshaupt to report. Permanently, if you wish it."

Anora considered that idea briefly for a moment, then discarded it. "She is Ferelden. I wouldn't exile her." Corin gave her a surprised look.

"That's very kind of you."

"I am not unaware of the violation my father did to Cauthrien's loyalty. She is an honorable woman, and much of what he asked her to do, starting with Ostagar, must have conflicted her terribly. And I really can't say too much about what she did in the Landsmeet, for I was no different, if less direct. I chose to ally myself with a man who was very clear in what his intentions towards my father were."

"I…hadn't thought of it in quite that way."

"Well, I did. For quite a long time last night. I chose Ferelden over my father, and ultimately, so did Cauthrien. While I cannot abide the thought of being around her for the associations it brings, I cannot fault her actions." Corin leaned back in the chair, his mien thoughtful.

"That's very even-handed of you."

"Thank you so much!" she snapped, suddenly irritated, perhaps because of the reminder of her father's death.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend."

Anora sighed. "I am sorry as well. I'm a bit short-tempered at present. From hunger, I suspect. You'd be more comfortable eating lunch out of your armor. Would you like me to help you with it?"

"That would be nice."

They both rose and went into the other room, which was apparently a very large walk-in wardrobe, filled with chests and hanging poles. Corin moved over to where the armor rack stood and he and Anora unbuckled the gilded plate swiftly, Anora stooping to work on the leg buckles, while he took care of the cuirass. Racking the pieces, he then did off the gambeson, cocking an ear towards the other room.

"I think lunch is here."

"Thank the Maker!" Anora exclaimed. They went back into the other room, Corin clad in his shirt, arming pants and boots, to discover that the small table near the window was being laid with white linen and array of dishes from which succulent odors arose. The two housemaids setting the meal out under Erlina's stern eye saw Corin and Anora and dipped curtseys, giggling.

"Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness!"

"Zat will be all," Erlina told them firmly, shooing them towards the door. There were more giggles and the bolder of them actually looked back over her shoulder to give Corin an appraising, appreciative look up and down before the door closed behind them. She was a fresh-faced, vibrant young thing of about seventeen and Anora tried to remember if she'd been one of Cailan's conquests. If so, it was no surprise that she would be so bold-the Queen was a cuckold of long standing. A comparison of that youthful freshness to her own more mature beauty was disheartening. What had seemed so doable in the Landsmeet but an hour before seemed absolute madness now. _Cailan was but a little younger than me and that did not work out so well. How in the Maker's name am I going to make __**this **__work?_

"Anora. Come. Sit down. Eat. You're done in," came Corin's voice. She looked up to find him holding her chair out. Seating herself, she watched pensively as he pushed her chair in, took his own and began to ladle portions of the roast chicken, steamed vegetables, bread and other side dishes onto her plate. "It's halfway to dinner time and you've not had any lunch. Eat something, you'll feel better." She took up her fork and began to eat, watching as Corin piled his plate high, then attacked it with an odd juxtaposition of delicate noble manners and voracious Warden appetite. Further speech between them was postponed until Corin had eaten half of his huge pile and Anora had eaten enough that the warmth of a filling stomach had eased her temper and anxiety.

"Better now?" he asked, wiping his lips with a napkin as he took a brief break from devouring everything in sight. Anora nodded and smiled.

"Yes. We'll be expected to dine in state tonight, you know. And probably tomorrow night as well."

"Then we may as well eat now. We'll be better able to talk with people at dinner."

"Indeed. It's been my strategy more than once. Odd that you've picked it up."

Corin grinned. "State banquets in Orzammar. You eat in your room beforehand or you starve. Nobody politics over a meal like the dwarves do."

"I see." He seemed in a very good humor, so she dared ask, "Are you happy with what happened today? I know that clearing your father's name pleased you. I mean the betrothal."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You are not getting the best part of the bargain, Corin. I'm ten years your senior."

"Eleven. Until next week, that is."

"I beg your pardon? My agents told me you were nineteen."

Her fiancé shrugged. "They told you wrong. I'm eighteen until next week."

Anora dropped her face into her hands. "Maker! I'm robbing the cradle!"

"If it makes you feel any better," and she could hear the undercurrent of laughter in Corin's voice, "I think of myself as older in my head."

"It doesn't," she moaned.

"Anora, as I told you, I slept with my first woman when I was fourteen. What I didn't tell you was that she was _thirty-five_. Serena taught me things I will never forget and one of those things was that older women have a great deal to offer a man. I _don't care_ that you're ten or eleven years older than I am. Truly. Morrigan is at least six years older than I am. There's simply not that much difference to me." She gave him a look of disbelief, but he met her eyes straightly. "I do mean that."

"Thank you, Corin."

"You're very welcome. Come, let's finish lunch."

* * *

><p>They did so. Afterwards, Erlina showed up with a shirt and buff breeches and brown leather doublet that had been among the things Anora had ordered for Cailan while he was off to Ostagar. Corin ducked into the wardrobe to don them and emerged looking casually princely. Anora, surveying the results, decided that she was a very lucky woman.<p>

"It's a good thing that I know you've eaten recently," Corin remarked. "Otherwise, I might be a bit worried. That's a rather hungry look there."

"Have you ever owned a pair of _leather_ breeches?" she inquired sweetly.

"Yes. I had a nice set of hunting leathers once. Outgrew them."

"Hmmmm. I think perhaps I will commission you a new set for your birthday. In dark blue, perhaps. Or maybe black. Yes, black would be very nice."

Corin cocked his head to one side and grinned. "And _who_ would they be a present for, exactly?"

"It would be one of those extremely successful presents that benefitted more than one person," Anora answered, primly demure.

"I see. Well, those _are_ the best sort of presents. The most efficient ones, as it were. Are you going to use that Orlesian tailor again?"

"Of course. After all, he has your measurements already and his last creation was…inspired." Corin chuckled and Anora asked, "What would you like to do until dinner? Help your friends move their things?"

"Lord Aleeztair is already doing that," Erlina put in. "I told heem it waz your wish that they move into your family quarters and he waz going to do that with everyone after lunch. He waz going to bring the dog over az well."

"Thank you, Erlina. That was very kind of you," Corin said. The maid shrugged and looked at Anora. "Your Majesty wished it, it waz done." She bobbed a curtsey and disappeared into what Corin assumed was her own room on the other side of the wardrobe.

"You told me once that you slept better in the day. Do you wish to take a nap?" Anora asked.

Her young Warden looked reflective for a moment, then said, "No, I don't think so. I didn't get much sleep last night, but I'm not feeling sleepy right now."

"Are you planning on walking or riding to Redcliffe?"

"There's a change of subject."

"It just occurred to me."

"Why?"

"Cailan took a horse with him to Ostagar. I don't know if he rode the whole way, but I think he did at least part of the time. He said it enabled him to get up and down the line quickly, and that it let people find him easily." She smiled reminiscently. "It was a rather placid horse, of course. He was like his father-more apt to fall off than stay on. But I seem to recollect that you are a good rider. Cailan told me a story once-I didn't realize that it was you until just recently- something about a tournament you rode in? He was laughing about it for weeks afterward. Said that you'd jousted with an Orlesian and knocked him into the mud. The Orlesian was apparently very surprised."

Corin shook his head and chuckled, but his eyes had darkened. "Yes, that was me. Though that time seems like a whole different world now. My biggest worry then was how I was going to pay my tournament entry fees if I went with my father to Orlais."

Seeing his saddened mood, Anora knew better than to ask about any horses he might have owned. As they'd been at Highever, she assumed that they'd met no better fate than his family. Instead, she said, "Empress Celene gave Cailan a horse when we were married. It's a lovely horse, but I think it was one of those subtly insulting Orlesian presents-she knew Cailan had no aptitude for riding. After being thrown twice, Cailan decided that the stallion was a sneaky Orlesian assassination attempt and never rode him again. He had Sable outside the city at stud for a while, but I think I remember the stable master telling me he'd brought him back in, right before I was captured by Howe. I don't know if he would suit your purposes, but if he does, he is yours now. You might want to go down and look at him this afternoon. And there are other horses in the stables you could look at if he doesn't serve. I don't know if we will have time tomorrow."

"That sounds like fun!" Corin exclaimed, brightening considerably. "Would you like to come with me? I don't even know if you like to ride, now that I think on it."

"I was raised a country girl. I'm decent enough on a horse-I can ride to the hunt. It is something I enjoy, even if the finer points are beyond me. I'll go change. Erlina!"

The maid came out of her room and the two women vanished into the wardrobe. Corin wandered about the room as he waited, pausing before the book case to examine the titles there. A knock came at the door and he heard Alistair's voice. "Your Majesty? Corin?"

When the door was opened, a somewhat harried Alistair was revealed. "I'm not interrupting anything am I?" he muttered to Corin. "I'll go away if I am, but I'd really appreciate it if you gave me sanctuary."

"Sanctuary? From what?"

"From Wynne! She's on a tear about moving into the palace. She conscripted a bunch of Eamon's men to move our stuff and is bossing everyone around and assigning us rooms in your parents' suite. She caught Oghren and Sten too, but I was too fast for her. I don't want to go anywhere near her until the worst is over. I figure a couple of hours will do it."

"Surely she knows better than to try to boss Morrigan."

"Oh, Morrigan said she'd move her own things in her own good time and no one had better touch them and that was all she was going to do and that Wynne could just get stuffed. Wynne knows better than to cross Morrigan. Morrigan's usually quicker off the mark with the offensive spells."

"What about Pook?"

"Pook's all right. Better than all right. Wynne said it wouldn't be good for him to walk all the way over here, so she's got a couple of Eamon's people pulling him in a hand cart. Pook's probably enjoying himself."

Corin knew that such treatment would undoubtedly be received by Pooka as his just due. It seemed as if the move was in capable, if bossy hands and did not require his personal supervision. He could go to the stables with a clean conscience.

The wardrobe door opened and Anora came out, clad in breeches, boots and a doublet of her own. Corin gave her an appreciative look. Her slender figure showed to advantage in the clothes.

"_Nice_."

"Thank you," she said, blushing a little. Then she noticed Alistair. "Is something wrong, Warden?"

"He's hiding from Wynne," Corin explained. "She took over the move."

"Ah. I see." The idea of some time alone with her fiancé had been both appealing and a little frightening given what would happen that evening, so Anora was not entirely sorry to see Alistair. He would serve as a buffer between them and she knew that she should cultivate him in any event, given his closeness to Corin and his future importance to the realm. "Would you care to come with us to the stables, Alistair? Corin was thinking that he might like to ride part of the way to Redcliffe, so we were going to look at the horses."

"Are the stables far from the Cousland suite?"

"About as far as you can get and still be in the palace."

"Then I'm your man," Alistair said fervently.

* * *

><p>Their route to the stables was circuitous, and mostly through back passages to avoid meeting any courtiers. Alistair covertly watched his friend and the Queen as they walked together. He had been worried that marrying Anora was a sacrifice that Corin had undertaken to spare him, but the longer the two of them went on, the more it seemed that they actually got on well together. He supposed that it wasn't so surprising, when one thought about it. Corin <em>liked<em> scary, intelligent women, as was proven by his affair with Morrigan, and Anora was certainly both scary and intelligent. The more intriguing thing was that the Queen seemed genuinely smitten with Corin in return. Her demeanor had softened considerably since they'd first met her on their arrival in Denerim. Now, as Alistair walked behind the two of them, he saw Corin's arm slip about Anora's waist, his hand upon her hip. Not only did she not try to avoid the contact, she leaned in more closely.

They eventually emerged from a passage adjacent to the kitchens into the stable courtyard, which was warm with late afternoon sunlight. The stable master, seeing them, hastened over and bowed.

"Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, what can I do for you? Do you wish to ride this afternoon?"

"Reagan, do I remember correctly?" Anora asked. "Did you tell me that Sable was back here again?"

"Yes, Your Majesty, he is. We've been putting him on the long line every day for a couple of hours."

"Would you bring him out, please? The Prince would like to see him."

The stable master gave Corin a doubtful look before he nodded obediently. "Of course, Your Majesty."

The three of them waited while the stable master barked orders at his underlings. "Do you ride, Alistair?" Anora asked.

"I've spent some time on horses, Your Majesty, getting from one place to another. I don't know that you'd call it _riding_. Templar horses aren't exactly known for their spirit. Templars like horses that are the equine equivalent of Tranquil. After all, you never know when an apostate is going to drop a fireball under their tails."

"That makes sense."

"Does that mean that you don't want me to find you a horse to ride to Redcliffe, Alistair?" Corin asked with a grin.

"You needn't go to any trouble on my account, brother." Hearing silence instead of some sort of witty rejoinder, Alistair looked over at his Warden brother to find Corin staring stunned at the stable door, where a groom was leading a horse out into the sunlight.

"Maker, would you look at _that_!" His tone was prayerful.

Sable looked as if someone had taken a piece of the night and cut a horse from it. Tall and well-muscled, with a high-arched neck, a dished nose, a mane that fell like waves of shadow over his neck and a tail that swept the ground, he was a truly lovely creature. And terrifying as far as Alistair was concerned, jibbing and curveting around the groom, tossing his head and snorting as loudly as some of the smaller dragons they had encountered.

"You're not going to _ride_ that monster, are you?" he asked Corin, horrified.

"Try and keep me from him!" His Warden brother's face was alight in a way Alistair had never seen before.

"He looks _dangerous_, Corin!"

"Not so dangerous as an Archdemon. That's my standard for peril these days."

Anora and Alistair watched as Corin conferred with the grooms. The stable master's dubious expression lightened somewhat as they spoke. Underlings went to fetch a bridle and saddle while Corin ran his hand over the stallion gently and spoke to him in a mixture of Fereldan and Orlesian. He saddled and bridled the horse himself when the equipment was brought.

The stable master held Sable's head. Corin gathered up the reins and suddenly he was up in the saddle, without any clumsy clambering or using the stirrup to pull up. Alistair couldn't quite tell how it had happened. Sable exploded straight up into the air, breaking the stable master's grip. Anora bit back a startled cry.

The stallion came down on all fours hard, then leapt forward in a wild career across the courtyard, grooms throwing themselves out of his path. Corin was still in the saddle, but thrown up over the stallion's neck and Alistair's heart was in his throat for a moment, thinking of all things of his father. Maric had survived revolution and countless conflicts, only to die at sea. Was this stupid horse going to be the ever-resilient Corin's end?

Then he noticed that his Warden brother's face was absolutely calm as he settled back into the saddle, his toe fishing for the stirrup, his hands shortening reins and pulling the stallion's head around. Sable slung his head, then submitted to the bit, the frantic gallop slowing to a controlled canter, his steel-shod hooves ringing on the stone. They made two sweeping circuits of the courtyard then cut diagonally across it. The stallion changed leads and they went the other direction a couple of times.

Eventually Corin reined him in until he was cantering only as fast as most horses walked, his neck arched proudly. That was when things started to get interesting. There came a floating trot, where Sable's legs seemed to touch the earth only briefest time to keep him aloft. And another trotting thing where he went _sideways_ across the courtyard, his legs crossing at every step. A prance in place, and a canter in place. Another canter where it looked like he was skipping, changing his lead every couple of steps. A rear and a hop that even Alistair could tell were intentional, cued. He whistled softly.

"Wow. I didn't know that you could make a horse _dance_."

Anora hadn't known it either, though at look at the stable master told her Reagan had seen this sort of thing before and was impressed. Corin set Sable to cantering in place once again, this time turning him on his haunches in a circle as he did so. When that was done, he walked him over to where the two of them stood, the sound of grooms applauding in the background, stroking a hand over the proud, silky neck. He was grinning broadly, his expression young and joyous, carefree as Anora had never seen it before. _My suggestion was a success, it would seem._

"I take it he suits you," she said aloud.

"Maker, yes!"

She gave the stallion a dyspeptic look. "I'm not sure this was a good idea, in retrospect. I've already got enough competition from Starfang. And I think his hair is better than mine is."

"He's in a different category," Corin said swiftly. "His hair is to other horses as your hair is to other women. Vastly superior." Anora laughed. Corin indicated the mounting block. "Go hop up there. You should feel this." She gave him a doubtful look and he laughed. "I promise it will be all right. He's settled down now."

Anora walked over and mounted the block while Corin maneuvered Sable to stand beside it. She was just wondering how best to go about this when Corin's long arm snaked out and pulled her across his lap. The horse shifted restlessly beneath them for a moment, then was stilled.

"You could sit astride, but you'll probably be more comfortable this way," he said in her ear. "Scoot in a little closer." She did so, seated squarely across his lap, his arm a firm bar beneath her breasts. He cued the stallion into motion.

It felt, she found, just the same as it had looked, like they were floating. They trotted and cantered about the courtyard while the grooms cheered. She leaned back and let herself relax against Corin's chest, acutely aware of both the way her breasts were spilling over his arm and the fact that the friction of her bottom against his crotch had elicited a certain amount of interest from him. But it wasn't a frightening feeling, merely pleasantly anticipatory. _Perhaps tonight won't be so bad after all__…_

Aloud, she said over the clopping of Sable's hooves, "You do realize that this is the embodiment of every tacky romantic trope out there, don't you? The golden-haired queen and her stalwart young knight, sweeping over the land together upon his mighty black stallion?"

Corin's chuckle rumbled pleasantly beneath her cheek. "Just because it's tacky and trite doesn't necessarily mean it's bad, does it?"

Anora tipped her chin up to enjoy the afternoon sun, relishing the play of all the lovely muscles, horse and man, beneath and behind her.

"No, it's not bad at all."


	18. Chapter 18

Sorry to be so late getting back to this-Thanksgiving and a couple of other stories have intervened. But here we are-a whole chapter of Corin/Anora smuttiness. Hopefully it will be worth the wait.

Thanks to Valin, JordanMathias, owl208 (x 2!), Gemini1179, FellowNrd, Eva Galana, Cibiripilli, mille libri, Marvey4, animevideogamefreak, spectre4hire, Mike, karthik9, The Lark, suilven, Maben00, lazyguy90, RoninKenshin, and JadeOokami for all the lovely reviews! Wow! I am stunned looking at all the names. Thank you for your support and encouragement!

* * *

><p>Anora sat before her vanity, waiting for Corin to return. He'd taken leave of her right after dinner, to go check upon his mabari and his friends. She hoped that he would not find the Cousland suite too upsetting-she had no idea of how many memories he had of the place, though she knew he'd not been at court during Cailan's reign.<p>

She'd done off the paint, determined to do this bare-faced. Corin ought to know exactly what he was getting. Examining her reflection in the mirror, she was not entirely displeased. Her skin was unblemished and still taut, though Erlina was right-she needed more sleep, if she were going to keep up with a younger man. There were bruised looking shadows around her eyes.

It had been encouraging to hear him speak of Serena, though she reminded herself firmly that his relationship with the Antivan been a commercial transaction. _Of course, this is as well. Put up with me and get a kingdom to rule in exchange._ To Corin's credit, he seemed to be making a real attempt to create a good relationship with her. He'd been nothing but polite and considerate. It remained to be seen how enthused he'd be about the bargain he'd made after tonight…

As if summoned by her thoughts, the door opened and Corin stepped into the room, his backpack swinging by its straps in one hand. They'd worn Ferelden white and gold at dinner tonight, which had necessitated him wearing some of Cailan's court clothes. He'd accepted them with good grace after assuring himself that she did not find the sight of him wearing them upsetting. Perhaps if he'd been blond like Cailan she would have, but there was sufficient difference in his appearance and Cailan's to prevent that. And Corin could be as pragmatic as she was. There wasn't time to be commissioning a new wardrobe for him and not much point, were he to fall in battle. And the expense was unwarranted. Even if Ferelden survived the Blight, the next few years were going to be difficult. It would be inappropriate for the King and Queen to be spending money on finery when so many of their subjects had lost their homes and livelihoods. Cailan's clothes fit Corin fairly well, any inadequacies could be easily fixed and the court suits had been expensive and well-made. "I've been living in dead mens' clothes for the last year," he'd told her with a shrug when she'd asked him if the idea upset him. Apparently a goodly amount of his company's wardrobe had been looted from dispatched enemies.

"My lady," he said now with a smile as he paused behind her.

"How was Pooka? And your friends?"

"Pooka is fine. He's a bit upset that he won't be with me tonight, but it's not the first time I've left him with Alistair. As for the others-they've got more room than they had at Eamon's place, so they're pretty content. Sten likes the paintings in the suite, and Oghren doesn't care where he sleeps so long as there's ale. And everyone is gossiping about you and me, so things couldn't be better."

"They are, are they?"

"Oh yes. Alistair is very relieved. Now that you and I are together, Oghren has been distracted from harassing him about Leliana."

"So glad we could be of service!"

"What are friends for, after all?" He went to set his backpack over close to the nightstand beside the bed, unbuckled Starfang and hung it on the bedpost. Then he came back over and stood behind her, looking at her reflection in the mirror appreciatively. She'd put on her nicest nightgown, a white lawn confection from Orlais that was so fine that it was half-transparent, trimmed with cutwork lace about the neck and cuffs. Her blue dressing gown was over it.

"You look lovely this evening. But your hair is still up."

"I thought that _you_ might like to take it down."

"That was considerate of you. I would like to, very much." He dropped a gentle kiss on the top of her head, then immediately set to pulling the hairpins, as careful as he had been before. When he had a handful, he gave them to her to set in the little box she kept for that purpose. A second handful finished the job and he began undoing her plaits. She handed her brush over her shoulder to him when that was done and sighed with pleasure as he began to brush her hair.

Corin laughed. "The way to your heart is apparently through your scalp!"

"Don't you like having your hair brushed? It feels ever so much nicer when someone else does it than when you do it yourself."

"Can't say that I've ever had the chance, at least not since I was small and my mother brushed my hair. Men don't go around fooling with each other's hair-that's a female bonding rite." He paused in his ministrations for a moment. She could see his speculative expression in the mirror. "Well, maybe it's a male bonding rite if you're a poncy Orlesian hairdresser. Or tailor. I daresay that fellow you had make my suit likes having his hair brushed. Among other things."

"Brat."

"Guilty as charged. Did you know he took the front crotch measurement _four times_?" He started brushing again.

Anora was astonished to hear herself giggle. "Did he really?"

"Oh yes." Corin assumed a flawless Orlesian accent. "'The front measurement, it is _crucial_. The package, it should be shown to advantage, not compressed or twisted. The male animal, he cannot flaunt himself as he should, if the root of his manhood is suppressed.'"

Anora exploded into laughter. ""The male animal'? 'The root of his manhood'? _Tell_ me he didn't say that to you!"

Her betrothed's eyes twinkled. "Not to me exactly. He was talking to, or more precisely at, his assistant. He didn't know that I speak fluent Orlesian."

"I am _so_ sorry!"

Corin chuckled. "There was no harm done. And as you said, the tailor was inspired. It's certainly a good suit. Though if he comes back wanting to re-measure, I'll have to tell him in Orlesian that he can't, because I fear it would suppress my manhood's root beyond any hope of recovery."

Leaning her elbows on the vanity, Anora dropped her head into her hands and laughed even harder. There was the slightest edge of hysteria in it, she could hear that, but it was very cathartic nonetheless. The brush kept moving smoothly, rhythmically through her hair and that helped to soothe and eventually calm her. When her laughter had ceased, she sat silently for a while, until she could hear her hair begin to crackle with static beneath the brush.

"Here. You've done enough. Let's switch places," she said, suddenly inspired. Corin obligingly complied, seating himself carefully in the delicate chair. "Give me the brush." He did so, and she started running it through his inky hair, which was soft and clean and thick. In daylight, it shined with blue highlights; here in the candlelight it was a warmer color.

"Ummmm, you were right. That _is_ nice," he murmured, tipping his head back. Anora leaned over, placed a kiss on his forehead, brushed a little more, then set the brush down, laid her hands upon his shoulders and buried her nose in his left ear. She exhaled into it and he jumped a little.

"Wicked lady," came his murmur, but then he bent his head to the right to bare his neck to her. She took up the invitation, kissing and nibbling down the length of Corin's neck until she hit the top of the collar. He sucked in a swift breath. Twining her hands about his neck, she unhooked the neck of the doublet and started working down the length of it. A scent of soap rose from his warm skin as she opened the doublet-he'd washed up after their horsey exertions before dinner. Bending her own head around, she inhaled, then sat back a little and kissed the sharp, clean line of his jaw above his beard.

"If you keep that up I'm going to pull you into my lap and I don't think this chair will hold the both of us," Corin said warningly.

"You have the most beautiful neck. I noticed it when you showed up for tea in that wretched tunic."

He turned his head towards her and cocked an eyebrow. "You noticed my _neck_? Why my neck of all things?"

Anora blushed. "I like a handsome neck. It's a…thing with me. And you were sitting, most of the time. I couldn't really appreciate your other…assets."

"Ah. I see." The young Warden was on his feet suddenly, his arm slipping about her waist, under the fall of golden hair. "I'm on my feet now," he noted.

"So you are." Her own arms slid around his waist then her hands slipped lower, under the skirt of the doublet, catching and cupping those very nice buttocks before stroking them appreciatively. Corin's other hand tipped her head back and he pressed his lips gently to hers. It was a long, soft, slow, scorching kiss that heated her blood nicely. When the kiss was done, his lips brushed her cheekbone, then her temple. The hand on her head was stroking her hair softly.

"We have all night, Anora. I'm in no hurry at all."

"For such a young man, you're incredibly patient."

"I told you, I'm older in my head. And I had a very exacting mistress teach me lovemaking."

"Your Serena?"

"Yes." When he spoke again, it was with an Antivan accent. ""It is the mark of a man that he has as much care for his partner's pleasure as his own. If he does not, then no matter his age he is nothing but a boy. Would you be a boy or a man, Corin?'"

Anora raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you speak fluent Antivan too!"

"Some. I read it better than I speak it. Zev's been helping. He gives me the odd language lesson every now and again. We've not had much time for it lately, what with having to keep my priorities in order."

"I wondered about that poetry book the night we spoke in the library. And speaking of priorities, I am really tired of this doublet."

Corin let go of her and obligingly held his hands a little way from his sides. "By all means." Swiftly undoing the rest of the hooks, she slid the doublet down off of his arms and laid it over the back of the vanity chair. When that was done, he took her by the hand and led her over to one of the more substantial chairs by the fire and seated himself, pulling her down into his lap.

"The bed is over there," she observed.

"And we'll get there eventually," came the response, just before his mouth covered hers once more for another of those deliberate, warm kisses.

Anora felt oddly apprehensive. Even at the beginning of her relationship with Cailan, he had been one to hurry up and get down to the point of things and in the latter stages, the lovemaking had been very perfunctory, although still friendly. Did Corin not truly desire her? Was she so old and ugly that he had to work himself up to this? She shifted uneasily in his lap and her betrothed groaned beneath her lips, breaking the kiss.

"You just need to stop that!" he declared, and feeling the sudden swelling under her rump, she realized that he was in fact aroused, he was just in control of the situation. That was encouraging, and she relaxed a little. His lips came down on hers again and his hands moved up to slide the blue robe down off of her shoulders, then lingered, tracing lazy circles on her shoulders and the outside of her upper arms. Anora shivered. She'd never realized that _arms_ could be so ticklish, even under a layer of thin lawn. Then Corin's hand slid over and cupped her left breast, the thumb rubbing her nipple gently through the fabric, the slight roughness of the lawn adding a whole new dimension to the sensation. That feeling of heat pooling in her belly came to her again and she heard herself moan in an animalistic way she didn't recognize.

"That's my lady," Corin murmured in her ear, his lips traveling over her throat and temples and face with gentle kisses while his hands began to caress her breasts in earnest, stroking and rubbing and even tweaking the nipples a little, when he found that she liked that. Anora began to feel warm and melted and relaxed. She never knew how much time actually passed, how long they sat before the fire drinking each other's kisses, wallowing in sensation. After a time she began to reciprocate, running her hands over the strong young body beside her in appreciation, nuzzling his neck. Once he turned his head a little to rub his cheek against hers, eyes closed, and the simple gesture almost undid her, it was so friendly and affectionate.

Sometime later she realized that the blue robe had been slipped off her arms completely, though her mind was fogged enough by now that the how and when of it eluded her. Nor did it seem much to matter, with those big hands moving gently over her body. Anora pulled the throat of Corin's shirt open and began kissing his chest and neck, slipping a hand in from the top to tweak one of his nipples in retaliation.

"Ummm, that's nice," he said softly, his hand sliding down to squeeze her buttock. "I need you to stand up for a moment, Anora."

"Why?" she pouted. She was enjoying herself and did not want to be interrupted.

"So that I can get my boots off. Which is necessary so that I can take everything else off."

"Oh. Let me help with that." She slid off of his lap to straddle his leg. Corin pointed his toe to expedite the process. Anora smiled to herself when she felt him rub the small of her back and squeeze her bottom. The boot came off easily enough, then the process (and the rubbing and squeezing) was repeated with the other foot. When both were gone, he stood up and pulled his shirt off over his head, then bent that dark head to commence kissing her once more.

As she had the day she'd asked him to take his shirt off, Anora caressed and stroked, this time to her heart's content. Corin stood fast beneath her ministrations, his arousal obvious, his own hands wandering freely over her body. Her fingers went to the buttons on his fly and opened them. Then she slipped her hand inside, down the waistband of his smalls to actually touch him for the first time. The breath hissed through his teeth and he jerked a little, then made a visible effort to stand still as she fondled him.

"Such control!" she crooned, smiling roguishly.

"Trust me, it has its limits!" He gave her a searching look. "Can we have the gown off now, do you think?"

"Only if we have the rest of your clothes off as well."

"Fair enough." Corin stripped his breeches, smalls and socks off in one smooth movement, while Anora loosened the tie on the neck of her nightgown and slid it off her shoulders. The gown fell to the floor and she looked up at her young lover from beneath her lashes, worried once more. This was the moment of truth.

Corin did not comment either positively or negatively. He simply wrapped his arms around her hips, lifted her up off the floor against him, skin to skin, and bent his head with a smile to close his lips around her nipple gently. Anora managed to notice that he'd been careful not to catch her hair up with his arms before the feelings he was eliciting made coherent thought go away again. She could feel him hot and hard against her thighs. In an impressive display of coordination and strength he managed to walk over to the bed and pull the coverlets back, all the while laving attention upon her breasts and nipples.

Using one hand to sweep her hair out of the way, he laid her upon the sheets, her knees at the edge of the bed. Standing between her legs, he leaned over and continued his ministrations with both mouth and hands, the latter warm and oddly comforting as they moved over her body. Looking up to give her a cocky grin, he then proceeded to kiss his way slowly down her belly, ever lower, pausing once to stick his tongue in her navel, which made her jump and giggle. His hands slid up the insides of her thighs. They clenched reflexively, but he pressed them open with gentle firmness. Then he bent and bowed his head and put his mouth…_there!_

Anora arched, startled, her hands flying to Corin's head, legs clamping around it, intending to push him away, then the sheer bliss of what he was doing began to wash over her in successively more powerful waves.

_Maker! I didn't know…I mean I knew that it was __**possible**__, but not that it would feel like this! _Cailan had never ventured to try anything like this with her, but Corin's tongue and mouth were sucking, exploring, _probing_. Her legs fell back open and her hands tangled in his hair, holding him there now rather than pushing away. Another, more powerful wave crested and _broke_ as she came for the second time since making Corin's acquaintance, crying out incoherently.

He immediately stopped what he was doing and looked down at her with a smile, his beard glistening suspiciously.

"Did you like that?"

She nodded.

"I rather thought you might. Didn't Cailan ever…?"

"No. He didn't like it."

"Odd. It's one of my favorite things." Anora shivered at the idea of that being done to her on a regular basis. Corin stepped back, took her legs in his hands and turned her, pushing them under the covers. "Slide over a bit, would you?"

She obliged and he slid into the bed beside her.

"Do you want to look, or are you cold?"

"I'm a little cold," she admitted. He nodded and pulled the coverlet up over them both, then turned, settled back upon his back and smiled.

"I am at your disposal, my lady. Do what you will." Sated, Anora was more curious than aroused as she began leisurely exploring his body once more. Her hand slid down to his groin and touched him gently. He was very hard and his member twitched spasmodically beneath her fingers.

"Do you want me to…with my mouth?" she asked a bit hesitantly.

"Have you before?"

"I tried a couple of times. I didn't really care for it."

"Then you needn't do it to please me. Might be for the best-I'm pretty close and that would probably send me over."

She shook her head, baffled. "You are so _strange_! You just talk about these things like it's the most casual thing in the world."

Corin shrugged. "It is one of the best things in the world, and one of the most interesting. Why wouldn't you talk about it? I know for a fact that you like hearing me talk about it." His voice deepened suddenly, got that growling undertone and Anora shivered, the heat starting up again. "See? You're a very intelligent woman, Anora. Good sex is as much about engaging the brain and senses as just rubbing bits together. Although, speaking of rubbing bits together, I'd like to get down to that part if you don't mind. I'm sort of at the limit of my control now." She nodded, but something of her sudden tension must have shown in her face, for Corin paused in the act of rolling over onto her and laid his hand along her cheek.

"Listen. If anything I am doing to you starts hurting, then you tell me. Immediately. All right?" She nodded. "I mean that," he said insistently. "I _will_ stop. There are a lot of different things we can do that will give pleasure to the two of us, and we can try all of them eventually. I don't want you doing anything you don't like or is painful."

Anora nodded a second time, and reassured, he leaned over and kissed her. She could taste herself upon his lips; an odd sensation but not unpleasant. The relaxation from her orgasm lingered with her still and she managed not to tense as he entered her in one slow and careful slide. She was moist enough that it was easy for him. His handsome, young face had a preoccupied cast to it, but he was smiling as he flexed his hips once and pumped into her.

"That's _nice_. Is it all right for you?"

"Yes!" she managed to gasp out. Corin had looked much the same size as she remembered Cailan to be, but now that he was inside her, Anora thought that he must be a bit bigger. Or perhaps she had tightened after a year of widowhood. In any event, he filled her nicely and there was no pain. The sensation of him moving inside her was almost pleasant. She drew up her knees. That changed the angle and caused the sensation to become genuine pleasure. With some difficulty because of the coverlets, she wrapped her legs around him. Her hands began moving feverishly over his back, stroking and scratching the least little bit. Corin started moving more swiftly.

"Are you still all right?" he managed to gasp out and she nodded vigorously. He smiled. "Good." Anora tried arching her hips up to him and was rewarded with a groan from him and a shiver of pleasure for herself. She began actively meeting his thrusts and the heat began to grow in her once more.

"Oh, Anora. That's marvelous!" Corin groaned.

"Yes! It's good!" she managed to gasp.

They had found a rhythm now, discovered the proper timing of their thrusts. Corin's eyes were closed, his face looking almost angrily intent. Anora closed her own eyes, the better to concentrate on what her body was building towards.

"I can't last much longer," she heard him say.

"Go ahead."

His hips were snapping now and he was groaning softly in her ear. He was a powerful young man and there was some discomfort, but a greater amount of pleasure and the slight discomfort seemed almost to season and intensify it. Each thrust almost seemed to strike golden sparks behind her eyes. The building tension was almost unbearable. Corin got down on his elbows of a sudden, his cheek against hers, his arms sliding beneath her to crush her close and thrust hard, three times. Anora felt the heat of his seed spilling in her as she came with him, the tension releasing with a snap that felt as if it had thrown her high into the air, only to float back slowly to earth.

She began to weep. Corin stiffened and started to withdraw from her but she tightened her arms about his neck to hold him there. His hand slid out from under her and stroked her cheek.

"Anora, are you all right? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

She shook her head vehemently. "No. No, you didn't hurt me. It was _good_! That's all. It was good!"

"Oh," he said, relieved. "Well that's reassuring. It certainly felt good to me! You had me worried there for a moment. I don't generally drive my partners to tears."

She released her death grip around his neck and allowed him to withdraw and roll over to her side. Wiping her eyes, she said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. It's just that…I've come to think of myself as very bad at this. I expected to endure, not enjoy."

Corin pushed himself up on an elbow, regarding her thoughtfully. "From what little you've told me, I gather that your husband found you disappointing in bed?" Anora nodded. Her betrothed grinned suddenly. "I know it's bad form to speak ill of the dead, but Cailan was an idiot."

Anora smiled tearily. "Not an idiot, but certainly not as patient as you have been."

"It's not really patience. More of a willingness to savor rather than rush things. It sounds as if your husband was a quick-off-the-mark type and you're one who needs to take longer. Everybody's different about sex. No fault of either of yours, though I _do_ fault him for not making more effort to try to discover what works for you. It wasn't that hard. You're actually very responsive and you have a playful streak. You're going to be great at this with a little more practice."

"More practice, is it?" she chuckled, blushing. "That doesn't sound so bad."

"I'm glad to hear that." Corin rolled across the bed suddenly and got up, stretching with a cracking of joints. He yawned and grinned suddenly. "A little while ago, Alistair discovered something I've known for a while."

"What's that?"

"That good sex is a great soporific. I might actually get a full night's sleep out of this. You have my thanks." He padded over to the washstand, took the towel there and dampened it with water from the pitcher. Then he came back over to her side of the bed, wiped her face, threw back the covers and wiped her more southerly regions, gave his own member a cursory swipe, then threw the towel into the basket of laundry by the door. "Do you want your nightgown back?"

Anora shook her head and Corin climbed back into the bed with her. "I'll give you fair warning," he said. "I'm a cuddler."

"That sounds nice," she assured him and he immediately scooted right up behind her back, sliding one arm beneath her and the other over her, pulling the covers high up over them both.

The warmth of his big body curled around her began to permeate and relax Anora. Corin's breathing settled and slowed so quickly that startled, she actually twisted a bit in his arms to take a look. He was indeed already and very definitely asleep, a smile on his face. Rather pleased at this sign of her sexual prowess, Anora let sleep take her as well.

* * *

><p>An hour later, the door to the wardrobe opened softly. A dark figure slipped out and leveled something at the bed where the royal couple lay. A soft blue light washed out, then vanished. Satisfied that Corin's quick Warden reflexes had been neutralized, Morrigan padded softly over to the bed and looked down at the couple.<p>

It had been easy enough to slip into the chamber after dinner and before Anora's arrival. A window had been left slightly ajar to let some fresh air into the room. From the garden, Morrigan had assumed swarm form and gotten in that way, then shape-shifted into a black cat and hidden behind one of the wardrobes, one filled with cloaks that Erlina would have no cause to open that evening. She could only dimly hear the goings-on in the royal bedchamber and had to judge when things were done by the silence. Then she had resumed her human form, opened the door to Erlina's room and slept the already sleeping elf to be certain that no one would interrupt her.

Now as she stood looking down upon the pair of them, and saw the smile on Corin's face, she had to firmly suppress the surge of rage and jealousy she felt, for she'd seen that selfsame smile in her own bed during the time they'd been together.

_There is nothing of him that can ever be yours, _she told herself firmly. _Aside, of course, from what the outcome of the ritual brings to you. If he even agrees to it. You could end the evening with Alistair. _It was that very painful possibility that had brought her here this evening.

Any reasonably competent witch could do fertility magic. Morrigan herself had been able to since her courses had come in. The ritual that her mother had sent her to do with the Wardens did indeed have a fertility component, but that was the easiest part of the spell. The difficult part was the elaborate magical construction that shielded and strengthened the incipient child so that it could actually survive the influx of god-energy.

It was a simple enough thing to incant and examine the life-energy of the sleeping lovers before her. Child's play to give things a nudge, particularly when Anora had been careful to choose a fertile time to begin with. _Things seem pretty much in keeping for a woman of her years, _Morrigan thought_. Perhaps less fertile than some, but_ _the late King must have been shooting with blunted arrows to not accomplish anything in five years. Corin's apparently have armor-piercing points! The Taint has certainly not slowed him down much, which is good knowledge to have. _For things were actually already under way. Morrigan had only to do a second incantation to insure that the conception would be accomplished and would stay, then her work was done. It was the work of moments and she sighed as she watched the faint but strengthening glow of the new life.

_I do not give a fig for you one way or another, Anora Mac Tir, _she thought a bit scornfully as she took one last look at the sleepers before resuming swarm shape. She'd already seen that the window was still cracked open. The slightest bit, but it would be enough. _And I certainly do not trust you. But if Corin survives the Blight, you will perhaps be less inclined to do away with him and seize power for yourself if he has proven that he can give you what you have long desired. And if he refuses the ritual and falls to the Archdemon-_here she had to pause before shape-shifting to master the sudden surge of pain that thought gave her-_then at least there will be __**something **__of my beloved left in the world!_


	19. Chapter 19

Sorry to be so late with this. I've been a bit stuck and I've got holiday stuff going on.

Mike-Yes, Morrigan did misjudge Anora, didn't she? It's perhaps understandable-even Anora is being surprised by the changes in herself. And even Morrigan isn't always as clever as she thinks she is.

Thanks to Mike and my other reviewers of the previous chapter-owl208, Cibiripilli, mille libri, Gemini1179, JordanMatthias, none, lazyguy90, Starkaster, JadeOokami, Suilven, spectre4hire, and Ronin Kenshin.

I'm waffling a bit about how exactly I want to do the Battle of Denerim, so bear with me. This chapter is pretty much filler or at least non-action and the next will be as well. Also, I've had trouble depicting Erlina's Orlesian accent consistently, so you'll not I've given that up with this chapter. I'll go back and edit the others at some point. _Tilt_ showed me I could imply the Orlesian accent without actually doing it.

* * *

><p>Anora awoke a couple of hours after dawn to find herself alone in the bed. On the pillow beside her were a yellow rose and a note. The rose was lovely, its petals faintly tinged with pink along the edges. The note was written in a surprisingly precise and elegant hand.<p>

_Dear Anora-_

_Thank you for a lovely evening and the best night's sleep I've had in a while. I woke up starving and didn't want to wake you, so I'm off to walk Pooka and raid the royal larder. I'll be back in time for the meeting with the Bannorn lords._

_I know you're supposed to give red roses to indicate passion, but I found this one very late rose in the glass house (I'm very impressed that we __have__ a glass house, by the way) and it reminded me of you much more than the red ones do. As an indication that the power has gone to my head already, I'm making my first royal decree. If __I__ give you yellow roses, it doesn't mean friendship. It means I'm thinking horribly improper, passionate thoughts about you. _

_Later-_

_Corin_

Blushing, Anora lifted the rose to her nose and inhaled the delicate scent. Red roses tended to have stronger perfume, but this one was very nice. Erlina was already bustling about, laying a cloth over the breakfast table in preparation. She looked over at her mistress, eyes twinkling.

"Is it a love note?"

"Not exactly. You may read it if you like." Finishing her task, the maid came over and took the note, perusing it swiftly. She chuckled when she was done.

"I think I like His Royal Highness. He is romantic almost like an Orlesian."

"_Almost_ like an Orlesian?" Anora cocked an eyebrow at her servant, who was undaunted.

"He has the romantic impulse, like an Orlesian. But he is still a bit plain-spoken like a Fereldan." Erlina gave Anora a concerned look. "Was he good to you last night?"

Anora stretched, smiling in reminiscence. "Maker, yes!" She blushed once more, at a particular memory. "He did that thing. The one with his mouth. Down _there_."

"Ha!" Erlina exclaimed delightedly. "I told you! That part is _definitely_ Orlesian!"

* * *

><p>In a small private dining room, Alistair Theirin stared at the mountain of food before him with awed appreciation. He had encountered Corin on his way to fetch Pooka. The two of them had walked the mabari; then, when Corin had said he wished to breakfast privately with his friend, servants had brought them here.<p>

"Wow. I can see why people kill people to get crowns."

"This, and all the bowing and scraping, I expect," Corin agreed, giving a slice of bacon to an eager Pooka, who took it delicately from his fingers and licked them clean of grease considerately afterwards. "That's a real boost to the ego if you haven't had it before." He wiped the licked hand on a napkin and looked at his friend curiously. "Second thoughts, Alistair?"

"Maker, no! Still happy and relieved over on this side of the table. The bowing and scraping would drive me crazy in short order. People have been all over you since you walked out your door this morning."

Corin shrugged. "It won't stay at that level for long. That's the new factor. I'm shiny and sparkly and they all want to bring themselves to my attention. Trust me, the disenchantment and resentment will set in soon enough."

"See? You know that. I wouldn't. And it would drive me crazy and I'd end up-"

"-in the cheese cellar, lost, alone and without any pants."

"Exactly!" Alistair looked thoughtful for a moment. "Of course, that wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen to you, given the quality of the cheese here."

Corin swallowed a mouthful of muffin, then grinned. "I can see it now. The realm is taken over and ruled in your name by the Evil Chancellor, who shoves decrees under your hand to sign, which you do willingly so long as the Orlesian Blue keeps coming."

"That's probably how it would turn out, truthfully."

"I doubt that. Don't sell yourself short, Alistair." Silence fell for some minutes while two Warden appetites manfully strove to clear the table. Then, deliberately casual, Alistair asked, "Was there a lot of the bowing and scraping at Highever?"

He could tell Corin had seen through the casual when the black brows lifted. "Wanting some more family stories, are we?"

"I've already told you pretty much all there is to tell about mine."

"That's true. Fair enough." Corin starting turning his knife over in his fingers as he spoke. "Yes and no. From the people who weren't part of the family or household or old friends, yes. On formal occasions, yes. The rest of the time, not so much. I was Young Master Corin until I was fourteen, after which I was Young Lord Corin. But that didn't mean that Aldous wouldn't still rap my knuckles if I daydreamed during my lessons or that Nan wouldn't dent my head with a spoon if I stole from the larder. And the knights and sergeants certainly weren't worried about proper forms of address when they were pounding me like a pell!" He smiled reminiscently; a smile that Alistair was pleased to see was without pain for once. "Actually, any time I was addressed formally by my name in a non-formal situation, it was usually because I was in trouble for something. Particularly by my parents. Most of the time my family called me 'Pup'."

"Pup? Because of Pooka?"

"No, they called me pup from the time that I was small. I think I have Fergus to thank for that." The pain was back for just an instant, flickering across his face before he continued. He set the knife down. "But Pooka certainly set the nickname in stone." The mabari's head insinuated itself onto his master's leg. "You want to hear how I got him?"

"Of course."

Corin ruffled his dog's ears. "You know how they say that the mabari chooses its owner? Well, Pook didn't choose me. Not exactly." Pooka whined in obvious protest. "Not that we don't get along just fine now."

"Then what happened?"

"Well, for a start you should know that Pooka is of an exalted lineage, even for a mabari." Pooka's tail started wagging and Alistair snorted.

"Don't get your head all swelled up, Pook. Remember, a generation every couple of years." Pooka lifted his head and bared his teeth in an ominous grin at Alistair. Corin chuckled.

"His sire was a very famous mabari who'd done great deeds in the war with Orlais, mabaris living longer than regular dogs do. But he was an old fellow nonetheless and after he'd bred this one last bitch, he died. She was something out of the ordinary as well, so when the word got out that his last litter was ready to be placed, every lord worth his salt in Ferelden was lining up and paying good gold to the dog's master, just to give their sons a chance at a puppy. Not to buy the puppies, you understand. They paid just to get some time with the litter to see if any would impress. The buying part would come later." Corin paused to drink some of his tea before continuing. "Now bear in mind, the mabari's master wasn't a lord. He was a yeoman who'd served with distinction with the rebels as well. He had set himself up a kennel afterwards, to augment the income from his farm and had done extremely well for himself. It was something of a revelation to my young self to see all these powerful lords abasing themselves to this commoner because he had something they all wanted and he was in control of it. It was quite the political lesson."

"_Everything_ is a political lesson to you."

"Not now so much. But then lots of things were and I certainly remembered that one." Corin spread some marmalade on some toast and took a couple of quick bites. "This is _good_-you should try it," he told Alistair before returning to his tale. Alistair took the hint and promptly slathered some of the marmalade on a piece of toast for himself, chewing appreciatively as he listened.

"The kennel master lived outside of Amaranthine," Corin continued, "so we went to visit the Howes and Father and Arl Howe and Thomas and Fergus and I all went to look at the puppies." Even this benign mention of the Arl caused a tell-tale tightening about the corners of the Crown Prince's mouth. "Nathaniel was a couple of years older than me and I wondered why the Arl didn't give him a chance as well. I asked Father later privately and he told me that it was their family business and none of my affair. Rendon always had it in for Nate. I don't know why. I hope Nate's happy in the Free Marches."

"Was he your friend?" Alistair asked curiously. It had never occurred to him that Corin might have actually been closely acquainted with the Howe children, but of course it was obvious when one thought upon it.

"Not really a close friend, no. Nate didn't make friends easily from what I could see and as I said, he was older than I was. But since we were the closest in age we were thrown together a lot when our families visited. I used to take him shooting. That always made Nate happy. He was a really good archer at a very young age. His father didn't like that for some reason. I think Rendon thought it a peasant's skill. But he couldn't say anything if I wanted to shoot as well."

Pooka barked a short, sharp bark that made both young men jump. Corin looked down at his dog. "Right. Back to the story. Anyway, we went to the kennel. The kennel master told us that Arl Urien had brought his son Vaughn the day before and the mother dog had not even let him in the door to the pen. She'd snarled at him until he left."

"Is _that_ why you killed him?"

"The memory factored into my decision," Corin admitted. "Mabaris have flawless judgment where matters of character are concerned." Pooka gave a satisfied chuff. "But I'd also heard enough stuff about Vaughn from Fergus to know that a golden opportunity to rid the kingdom of him without repercussion shouldn't be wasted. He was a serial rapist and murderer who had been predating upon the Alienage girls for years."

"And here I thought killing him was a spur of the moment thing." A feeling of relief came over Alistair Theirin then. In the whole time he'd known Corin, the only seemingly impulsive thing he'd ever seen his Warden brother do was the casual knifing of Vaughan Kendalls through the bars of his cell. Having heard Kendalls' bluster, Alistair had judged him to be a thoroughly unpleasant individual, but it had still seemed out of character.

"Give me some credit, Alistair! There was also some thought and judgment involved. It wasn't _entirely _because my blood was up, as _some_ people have claimed." Alistair fell back upon his best defense, striving to look as gormless as possible as he slathered a second piece of toast with marmalade. Watching him do so, Corin smiled fondly and shook his head.

"So…Fergus and Thomas and I all went into the pen while our fathers and the kennel-master waited outside. It was a big pen, with plenty of room for the puppies to run around in. There were seven puppies in there, brown and brindle and one black one. Fergus and Thomas went over and started playing with them. The mother dog was lying over at the side watching them. She was one of the biggest mabaris I'd ever seen, a big brindle bitch and I was a little scared of her. But she looked sad because people were looking at her puppies to take them away, so I went over to her."

"You thought she looked sad?"

"She _did_ look sad. Sadder than Pook when the last piece of bacon goes away," Pooka's master declared, devouring said piece of bacon in three swift bites. Pooka laid his head back on his master's knee and sighed heavily. "So I let her sniff my hand, which she did. Then I rubbed her ears and thanked her for letting us look at her puppies. I told her that she shouldn't worry-since they were such special puppies, anyone who was lucky enough to get one would love it and take very good care of it. Then, even though she was as big as Pooka and I was a lot smaller than I am now, I sat down beside her to watch. I figured since Thomas and Fergus were older, I should let them play with the puppies first."

"So what happened? Did Pook come over?"

"Oh, they all ran back and forth to visit their mother and sniff at me, including Pook. Father asked me if I didn't want to go over to the puppies, in that voice that meant I should do what he said, but the kennel-master said that I was fine where I was, and Father left it alone after that. Arl Howe seemed pleased that I was being recalcitrant. As for me, I played with any puppies that came over and watched, hoping that Fergus would get a puppy. I was certain that he would, since Fergus was the best big brother anyone had ever had. There were ten years between us, so we weren't rivals like children who are closer together often are." Corin curled his hands around his tea cup and bent his head over it for a moment. Though there was no obvious distress upon his face, Alistair knew that the best thing to do was to simply wait in silence.

After a moment, he lifted his head and smiled. "Anyway, we stayed there for about an hour. The kennel-master said that Fergus and Thomas should go ahead and leave and see if any of the puppies followed them. So Fergus went first, then Thomas. None of the puppies wanted to follow them. Father told me that I should come out as well, but when I started to get up, the mother dog barked loudly at me. I froze in place, not sure what to do. She wasn't growling, but she turned her head and looked me square in the eye. 'Just sit there for a moment, lad,' the kennel-master told me. I thought that he meant to come in and get her so that I could leave, and Father must have thought the same thing. 'Do as the man says, Corin,' he commanded. But the kennel-master didn't come in the pen. He just stood there and after a moment she barked again, this time at her puppies. And the biggest and smartest and most handsome puppy in the whole litter-" here Pooka gave a happy bark of his own-"trotted over. Whereupon his mother gave him a couple of quick swipes with her tongue on his face and ears, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, picked him up and dropped him in my lap."

"I didn't think it was supposed to work like that."

"I didn't either, believe you me. In fact, I didn't even know what was going on until the kennel-master told my father that he had a puppy to pay for!"

"Were you happy?" Alistair's face was alight with enjoyment of the tale.

Corin nodded. "Once I figured out that it was for real. I thanked the mother dog and promised her I would take good care of him. Then I picked Pooka up and carried him out of the pen. The kennel-master told me that Mairead, that was the mother's name, sometimes did that, that she liked to pick homes for her puppies. He asked if I'd known that, but of course I hadn't." A smile of reminiscent satisfaction came over Corin's face. "Arl Howe said all the right things, but hindsight as a grown-up tells me now that he was pretty provoked by the whole business. Thomas, on the other hand, was actually very nice and congratulated me."

"Fergus wasn't jealous, was he?"

"Oh no. He thought the whole thing was too amusing for words. 'It would figure that it would take a pup to get a pup!' he said, and laughed. He also said that it was probably for the best, that he wasn't sure he was up to the continual trips to the courtyard for housebreaking and having holes chewed in his boots. Which as it turned out was a fairly prophetic remark. But I will leave the terrifying tale of Pooka teething for another day." Corin got to his feet. "Time to earn breakfast. Are you coming with me to the meeting?"

"I ought to, oughtn't I?"

"Yes, you probably should. You need to learn who these people are and they need to get used to you. Besides, I'd appreciate it."

"Very well then." Corin was on his feet before Alistair got the courage to actually ask what had preyed upon him all morning.

"Corin? Are you all right?"

Corin gave him a puzzled look. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well…you spent the night with Anora, didn't you?"

Straight-faced, his Warden brother responded, "Yes. Yes I did."

"So?"

The Cousland grin flashed suddenly. "Why Alistair! I am shocked! _Shocked!_ Are you asking for the prurient details of my night with the Queen?"

Alistair's ears immediately began to redden. "Maker, no! I was just worried, that's all. I sometimes wonder if you haven't been pushed into this because I didn't want it."

"No disrespect intended, Alistair, but I doubt you _could_ push me to do something against my will. This was my idea and I sought Anora out. I'm not scared of her like you are. We had a very nice night together-we suit each other well. My nether bits survived the experience undamaged. I slept like a baby afterwards. Feel better now?"

The red had spread from both ears to cover Alistair's face. "Yes," he muttered. "Sorry."

"No harm done. Here, let's go find Riordan before the meeting. He ought to be there too."

* * *

><p>The meeting with the Bannorn lords lasted until lunch time. Anora, watching her betrothed in action, finally, fully took measure of the man she'd allied herself to. She did not find him wanting.<p>

Someone who had brought two such disparate peoples as the Dalish Elves and the Orzammar Dwarves together in common purpose obviously had some skill in diplomacy. But watching Corin convince, cajole and when all else failed coerce a contentious bann, she could see Bryce's and Eleanor's tool marks all over him. He was Cousland to the core. Every particle of that excessive charisma and formidable intellect were brought to the task and watching, Anora knew that her decision, while based at least in part upon physical attraction, was nonetheless a sound one.

Seeing Corin debate an opponent into abject surrender was for Anora a sexier mating display than watching him best an opponent at tourney or slay a dragon. She let him take the lead in the talks since military matters were his purview, standing ready to support him when necessary, giving him information he needed in quiet asides, a warm feeling of contentment pervading her being. That contentment only increased when she saw, as he stretched his arm across the map of Ferelden to indicate something to one of the lords, the tag-end of a bit of golden ribbon beneath the cuff of his shirt. Thinking back upon the previous night, hazy though some of her memories were, she recollected the ribbon's soft ends trailing lightly over her body as they made love.

She tasked Corin about it while two of the lords were arguing loudly with each other. "You're _still_ wearing this?" she murmured, moving close to tug the end of the ribbon.

"Of course," he responded, bending his head towards her and turning unbelievably guileless blue eyes upon her. "You gave it to me."

"I gave it to you for the Landsmeet and silk doesn't wash particularly well," Anora noted. "Wouldn't you like me to give you something else?"

Corin pushed his cuff up and examined the favor with a critical eye. "It _is_ looking a little worse for the wear, but I think it will hold up as long as necessary."

"As long as necessary?"

"Until the Archdemon is dead…or otherwise."

An image of Corin pale upon a pyre, burning, her ribbon crisping along with him, flashed before Anora's eyes then, along with an image of Cailan in the same golden armor, burning at Ostagar. Her father's imminent pyre also crossed her mind. _Must __**everyone**__ I care about ultimately burn?_

"Please don't speak like that!" she said to her betrothed, reaching up to lay her hand along his cheek.

"It is what it is, Anora," he said simply, bending to place a soft kiss upon her brow. "I took an oath. A couple of them, in fact."

Realizing suddenly that there had been no sound of argument for some time, Anora turned her head to see that the entire Bannorn was watching them, most with smiles upon their faces. Teagan was grinning like a cat, while Eamon gave them a look of long-suffering patience. Of the two Grey Wardens, Riordan looked obscurely troubled, while Alistair seemed oddly relieved.

"All right, Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, we do it your way," Alfstanna declared, smiling broadly. "The Bannorn cannot hope to prevail against the two of you together."


	20. Chapter 20

Thanks to millelibri, JordanMatthias, Cibiripilli, lazyguy90, none, Rawr1983, Suilven, Mike (x2!), animevideogamefreak, Jade Ookami, owl208, Noobbody, Ronin Kenshin, Marvey4, spectre4hire and karthik9 for their kind words about the last chapter. Also thanks to Zukafew119 for reviewing many of the earlier chapters.

Something I wasn't expecting happened this chapter. See if you can guess what it is.

The passages from the Chant of Light are of course property of Bioware. I'm not profiting from them, unless it's spiritually.

* * *

><p>There had been a steady procession of visitants throughout the day at the Denerim Chantry. Despite the strife of the last year, there were still those who wished to honor Teyrn Loghain for his victory against the Orlesians. The Queen herself had come alone, mid-afternoon, to spend some time with her father's body, the chantry being emptied at that time to accommodate her wish for privacy. Now, as the day drew down to dark, a crowd gathered; partly out of respect for the late Teyrn, partly from a desire to gawk at the high-born mourners. They were not disappointed. There were some absences, but many of the nobility were in attendance, though whether it was because of genuine sorrow or political opportunism could not be said.<p>

Finally, the event most of them had been waiting for occurred. There was a sound of massed marching armored feed and a contingent of the Royal Guard came into view, coming down the hill from the Palace District, a coach in their midst. They pulled up in formation before the Chantry gate, while City Guard pushed the crowd back a bit. But the onlookers were still close enough to see the Queen, clad in somber dark blue and the Crown Prince, garbed in black, both of them with their golden crowns upon their heads. It was their first public appearance and despite the sorrowful nature of that appearance, a spontaneous cheer erupted.

"Andraste's blessings on you, Your Majesty, Your Highness!"

"The Maker keep our Queen and Crown Prince!"

The Prince bent his head towards his betrothed and they seemed to exchange a few words. Then the two of them turned to the crowd and waved in acknowledgment, though their faces were understandably unsmiling. A roar of approval went up.

Marjory and Mathilde, two of the Gnawed Noble's waitresses, were off duty and in the crowd watching.

"Ah, but she got herself a nice piece in that boy," Mathilde observed. "Anora's been lucky in her men. This is the second really handsome one she's had."

"If he's gone in five years like the first, I'll know who to blame," Marjory said, pursing her lips for a moment. Then she turned to her companion. "You ever serve him? I have. He's a polite sort."

"I have and he is. Always greets me by name, he does. But you know what? He doesn't mind getting his hands really dirty. I hear tell he settled that rogue war we had and has done some work for the Crows. Not to mention breaking up all those gangs."

Marjory shrugged. "What do you expect? You push a noble as far down into the dirt as Cousland was pushed, if he's not willing to get his hands dirty he dies. If he is, he can rear back up fighting to take back what's his. This one's apparently the rearing and fighting type. There was money in all that work he did, I'll warrant. And he needed it for all those elves and dwarves and things he got to fight the Blight for us."

"He could rear over me any time he liked," Mathilde observed with what was almost devout fervor. "That is one _fine_ ass."

"The rest of him isn't hard on the eyes either," Marjory agreed. The two women looked at each other and giggled.

"I guess now that he's Crown Prince, _we_ won't be seeing much of him anymore," Mathilde noted dejectedly.

"Probably not. Though if he survives the Archdemon, he's bound to want a drink or two. We might see him again."

"I hope so. Maker keep him safe."

"Lady smile on him." The two watched until the royal couple had gone into the chantry, then made their way back through the crowd to report for their evening shift.

* * *

><p>Corin was surprised and pleased on Anora's behalf that so many of the nobles, even ones who had greater cause than most to hate Loghain, had shown up for the funeral. Though Anora said nothing, he could feel her relax upon his arm when they entered the Chantry and found it almost full. Whether it was sycophantic behavior towards the new rising star or an earnest desire to show solidarity at a time when Ferelden needed it most was immaterial. What was important to him was that it made her feel better.<p>

All rose as they entered the chantry and processed down the aisle towards the first pew. But a greater surprise came as they neared the second pew and he saw Alistair, handsome in dark brown velvet and brown and gold brocade, standing with Eamon and Teagan.

Anora stopped and gestured to him. Alistair moved out of the pew to stand at her side and bowed.

"Alistair. I had not expected this. It is very kind of you." There was a tight quality to her voice that told Corin she was suppressing profound emotion.

Alistair inclined his head. "Your Majesty," he said quietly. "You were my half-brother's wife and you are my Warden brother's betrothed. So of course I came."

"Come. Sit with us. You are family." A murmur rose from the crowd as Anora took him by the hand and moved between the two Wardens to take her place in the front pew.

Corin looked over her head as they settled themselves, meeting hazel eyes with blue and tried to convey with a look what could not be said in words. _Oh, well done! __**Very**__ well done, my brother! _Alistair gave him a small quirk of the lips and a tiny nod, then turned his attention to back to the Revered Mother, who was raising her hands to begin the service.

* * *

><p><em>My Maker, know my heart<br>Take from me a life of sorrow  
>Lift me from a world of pain<br>Judge me worthy of Your endless pride_

My Creator, judge me whole:  
>Find me well within Your grace<br>Touch me with fire that I be cleansed  
>Tell me I have sung to Your approval<p>

O Maker, hear my cry:  
>Seat me by Your side in death<br>Make me one within Your glory  
>And let the world once more see Your favor<p>

For You are the fire at the heart of the world  
>And comfort is only Yours to give.<p>

The stars were out in force above the rear courtyard where the pyres were done and a waxing crescent moon hung high in the sky. A chorus of sisters sang the words of a part of Transfigurations that Corin had always liked and thought very appropriate. Loghain Mac Tir had been carried out to the tall pyre upon the same bier he'd lain upon in the chantry-sword in hands, shield at feet, and a cloak with Gwaren's arms cast over him. Torches all about the perimeter of the courtyard cast an oddly cheerful glow over the mourners.

The Revered Mother had switched to Trials for the close:

_Though all before me is shadow,  
>Yet shall the Maker be my guide.<br>I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.  
>For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light<br>And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost._

Though Corin was not touching her physically, he could sense Anora stiffen as a mother approached with the torch.

"Do you want me to help?" he asked in a low voice. Her head snapped around and she gave him an almost angry look.

"No. I have it."

Anora took the torch and walked with slow measured steps to the bier. Everyone was silent. She touched the torch to the side where the specially prepared kindling protruded and the flames immediately began to lick upward. The Denerim Chantry knew how to make a proper pyre, one that caught quickly and flamed high, so as to hide the distressing sight of the loved one's burning. She tossed the torch with a quick, decisive motion onto the Gwaren cloak, then walked slowly back to Corin's side. The flames mounted skyward towards the stars.

The crackle and dance of the flames brought unwelcome memories of Highever back to Corin's mind. _That long, terrible night, dodging back and forth across the castle, fighting Howe's men with his mother, blocked time and time again by flames from any direct path…_ By long habit, he repressed them ruthlessly, concentrating instead upon the woman at his side. Anora was staring into the flames, her face stony, dry-eyed. He knew all too well what that sort of control cost. A bit hesitantly, he extended an arm and drew her under his cloak. She did not protest and moved closer to his side.

The mourners began to file by and take their leave with condolences, as was the custom. Eventually, only Alistair, Eamon and Teagan remained with them and they too departed after some gracious words from the arl. The pyre had reached its brightest point, whitely incandescent in the heart of it.

"Come, Anora," Corin said at last, tugging gently upon her arm. "It's time to go." She drew the hood of her cloak up over her head and went with him, turning back once for a long last look.

* * *

><p>The carriage was dark and quiet. Anora sat opposite Corin, wrapped close in her cloak, rather than beside him as she had upon the trip to the Chantry.<p>

"Have I offended in some way?" he asked gently.

"No. I just need some…space right now," she replied. He nodded and they fell silent for a time, listening to the rattle of the wheels over the cobbles and the clopping of hooves.

"Has there…has there ever been a service for your family?" she asked eventually.

"Yes, at Redcliffe, after we dealt with that little undead problem and got the Arl back on his feet. I asked Revered Mother Hannah up to the keep chapel and she did one for me in private. I figured it was safe enough there to reveal that I was the last, attainted Cousland."

"You didn't have anyone with you? Not even Alistair?"

"No, because I knew I was going to break down and cry and I didn't want them to see it."

"Did you?"

"Yes. Though not as badly as I had thought I would. Still…let's just say that I know where you're coming from right now."

Anora nodded. "I hope that you are not offended that I wish to be alone tonight."

"You said that you would wish to be the other day. I understand and I don't mind. I'll preside over dinner tonight in the hall if you like."

"That would be appreciated. When are you going to deal with Cauthrien?"

"Tonight after dinner. Alistair and Riordan and I will go."

"I _will_ see you off in the morning."

"I would appreciate that."

Silence fell again and was unbroken all the way back to the Palace.

* * *

><p>"<em>Nice<em> suit," Corin remarked to Alistair, who sat at his right hand with Riordan at the high table that evening. Eamon and Teagan were on his left and the rest of the seats were filled with his eclectic group of traveling companions. Sten was unperturbed by the social promotion (Corin suspected he didn't understand the significance), while Wynne and Leliana seemed very pleased. Morrigan was attracting considerable male attention with her wardrobe choice for the evening, which was black, tight and revealing. Oghren was oblivious, drinking hard and looked to be heading _under_ the table before long. Zevran was talking knowledgeably about wine to the butler, who seemed impressed when he wasn't giving Shale, who was looming against the back wall, nervous glances.

"Thanks," Alistair said. "It took me all afternoon to pull this together with Teagan's help. Fortunately, the tailors _Teagan_ knows _don't _obsess over crotch measurements and they can actually speak _Fereldan_. No Shimmer Boy for me, thank you very much!" Teagan covered his mouth with his napkin to hide his smile.

"Well, it really looks good on you. Nice work for a rush job."

"I'll have you know I got stuck full of pins in the process. They had something that was close and had to alter it for me." He lowered his voice. "In fact, there are still some bits inside that apparently need finishing. I'm supposed to send it back to them."

"I think you really made Anora feel better, being there like that. I know you didn't want to, but she did appreciate it. And so did I."

"And it is good to know that we can apply to _Anora_ to move you in sartorial matters when nothing else works, Alistair," Eamon said dryly.

"Yes. Well." Alistair shot Eamon a glare, which then transmuted into a sheepish smile. The arl smiled fondly in return. "The service wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. It was actually pretty nice as such things go. The singing was very good. The soloist in particular was really excellent."

"That was Sister Agnetha," Corin said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin after making short work of a slice of roast beef. "She's from South Reach. She's a new sister."

Alistair gave Corin a disbelieving look. "Right. And how do _you_ know _that_, Your Clever Highness?"

"She's the one I got to bless me before the Landsmeet."

"Huh." Alistair's expression grew thoughtful. "Considering how that worked out, maybe you should get her to give you another before we go south."

Corin smiled serenely. "I was planning on it."

* * *

><p>"They burnt the Teyrn tonight," one of Cauthrien's jailors told her as he shoved her dinner through the slot at the bottom of the door. "It was quite a turnout they say. Sort of the end of an era."<p>

She looked up at him from her chosen place, sitting slumped against the wall, knees drawn up, hands dangling between them and said nothing.

The jailor swiftly straightened back up and stepped back. He was a cautious man. But he lingered, for he was also a garrulous one. "Loghain was a good man once, but he ran mad a bit there at the end," the jailor observed. "Reckon you did Ferelden a favor, taking him down like you did. It's a shame you're going to get the chop for it."

"I'll probably _hang_ for it," Cauthrien said, finally giving in to his desire to converse, her voice raspy from disuse. "I'm a commoner. Nobles rate steel. Commoners get hemp."

"But you're a knight. That counts for something. I'll wager you get steel."

"I've nothing to wager with, but my non-existent money is on hemp." The black humor of it actually drew a chuckle from her.

"I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything," the jailor promised. "But there's been no word at all so far. I guess they're just a bit too busy to deal with you right now."

"No doubt." People to be crowned, Blights to be dealt with…the disposal of one troublesome knight would not be a high priority.

"Maybe the new Crown Prince will give you a break," the jailor said hopefully. He had a certain degree of sympathy for Ser Cauthrien, who was a bit of a legendary figure in her own right. "You did him a huge favor, when all is said and done."

"Even if he thought to do a favor back, he's marrying the Teyrn's _daughter_," Cauthrien pointed out, the talkative jailor having kept her appraised of all the latest news. "Who is also the Queen and who will definitely want me dead. With _hemp_." Knowing Anora, most likely hemp tied to four wild horses…

"Well, perhaps the Prince's favor will get you _steel_," the jailor said stubbornly, a glint of humor in his eye.

"Small favor indeed, but perhaps it will," Cauthrien agreed at last, so that he would go away. When he had done so, she cast an idly curious look in the direction of dinner-bread and cheese and a metal cup of weak ale. But there was no more appetite in her for dinner than there had been for lunch or breakfast. She sighed, tipped her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. _Hemp or steel…or starvation, I hope death comes soon, _she thought wearily. _For in it lies my redemption._

* * *

><p>"Ser Cauthrien." The tone was crisp, commanding. Coming up slowly from the depths of sleep, Cauthrien thought for one brief, joyous, confused moment that it was her lord. Then her returning faculties registered the fact that this voice was younger, not so deep. She knuckled sleep from her eyes. Cousland was standing outside her cell, crowned, clad in black, his extraordinary sword belted at his waist for a change. The other two Grey Wardens were with him as well.<p>

"My lord Prince. I hear that congratulations are in order. Pardon me if I do not get up."

"Are you unwell?"

"Uncaring, more like."

The Prince seemed both unsurprised and unoffended. "Ah. I see. I have a proposition for you, Ser Cauthrien."

"A proposition."

"Yes. But there's a bit of a catch to it. You have a choice. You can hear the proposition out or not, as you choose. If you refuse to hear the proposition, then you'll wait here in Drakon until we have time to give you a proper trial. I don't know when that will be, to be honest-I've got a lot more important things to do at present."

"And if I choose to listen to this proposition of yours?" The faintest bit of curiosity stirred within Cauthrien.

"Then you listen and agree or refuse. If you agree…well you get to survive, at least in the short term. If you refuse, I kill you myself, here tonight."

Cauthrien's brain, the brain that had made Loghain promote a mere farm girl up to his second-in-command automatically began working through the options. "So-if I don't listen to the proposition, I live a bit longer here in jail until my trial, when I'll undoubtedly be condemned to death."

"Undoubtedly. The Queen will insist upon it," Cousland affirmed.

"Safe short-term survival with death at the end of it."

"Yes."

"But if I listen to the proposition and refuse, you will kill me tonight. Immediate death."

"Yes."

"And if I listen to the proposition and agree I get short-term survival-under what conditions?"

"Possible immediate death, possible short-term survival of a very exciting nature," Cousland said without hesitation. "Long-term survival is also a possibility, though not a great one. And I should add-the chance to serve Ferelden one more time."

_Redemption of one sort or another. Here. Tonight. _Fire flared in Cauthrien's brown eyes. "What is it you propose, Your Royal Highness?"

"We need Grey Wardens. We don't have enough for the Archdemon."

"You want me to become a Grey Warden?"

"Yes. You've got the skills and you've got nothing to lose. But the Joining comes at a price."

"Warden Cousland…" The Orlesian Warden said warningly. The Prince turned on him, blue eyes blazing bright as lyrium.

"_No_, Riordan! She will _know_ before she chooses! There will be _one_ blighted Warden in the Order that does! I've already said she'll die tonight if she refuses. Your secrets are safe!"

"They're your secrets too, Corin," Alistair Theirin said, a troubled look on his face.

"And they're taken care of!" Cousland snapped. He turned back to the prisoner, pressing close to the bars, his eyes boring into Cauthrien's. "Here's the deal, Cauthrien. The Joining may kill you outright. It's a magical concoction that contains darkspawn blood. A fair number of Grey Warden recruits don't survive. If it doesn't, you've got about thirty years to live before you go mad or turn into a ghoul. Most Wardens go down to Orzammar and go out fighting darkspawn when that starts to happen. You'll have nightmares about darkspawn for the rest of your life-good sleep will become a much longed for and not often obtained thing. You probably won't ever be able to have children. On the positive side you'll be tougher, most likely stronger. You'll be able to sense the darkspawn, although they'll also be able to sense you. You'll be able to kill an Archdemon. You'll be able to eat like a pig and keep your girlish figure. In fact, you'll _have_ to eat like a pig-you won't have any choice. But your allegiance won't be to Ferelden any more, it will be to Weisshaupt-and humanity at large. Because Wardens fight the Blight. That's what they do and all they do. Interested?"

Cauthrien studied the three Wardens for a long moment. Cousland was ablaze with what seemed almost to be indignation. Alistair Theirin was obviously conflicted about something. The Senior Warden looked both displeased and uneasy.

"I will point out that I was always told that Wardens were supposed to be apolitical," she said at last, "And that _you_, Your Royal Highness, have been nothing _but_ political for some time now. You've accepted the _crown_ of _Ferelden_. How does that mesh with that 'serving humanity at large' business?"

Cousland sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I was dragooned into the Wardens against my will," he explained. "Duncan blackmailed my dying father, whose word bound me to the Order. When this Blight is done, I will consider my obligations to the Wardens more than fulfilled and will be informing Weisshaupt of that." He turned to face Riordan as he said that last. The Senior Warden did not respond verbally, though he frowned. Alistair Theirin frowned as well.

"I…see," Cauthrien said. "But if making you a Warden makes it difficult to have children…"

"Yes. Anora and I might end up merely staving off civil war for a few more years. Accomplishing nothing more than that."

"And it would be the same with Warden Theirin."

"With any Warden, though I suspect the odds of making children are better the shorter time you've been Joined."

"That is so," Riordan put in. "There have been Wardens new to the Order who have had children. Not so with older Wardens close to the Calling."

"The Calling?"

"That is what we call what the Prince spoke of earlier-when the Taint becomes too much." He gave Cousland a disgruntled look. "But I will say that despite the fact that we serve all of humanity, the chances of being forced to serve elsewhere than Ferelden are small, Ser Cauthrien. Most likely, if we survive the Blight, you would be remaining in Ferelden to rebuild the Order here rather than going to Weisshaupt or elsewhere."

"Since it was Ostagar where the Wardens perished and I was at least in part responsible for Ostagar, I suppose there is a sort of justice in helping to rebuild the Order," Loghain's second mused. The irony of it appealed to her in her current mood and made the decision easy. "Gentlemen, I'm in."

Cousland sighed and seemed to relax. "Very well then. Senior Warden?" Riordan nodded, and moved out of Cauthrien's visual range. When he returned, he was carrying a large alabaster cup. The Prince had apparently been given the key to the cell, for he was opening the lock.

"One last question before we do this," Cauthrien said. "If your need for Wardens is so desperate, why have you not made more before now?"

"The Joining formula also includes a drop of preserved Archdemon blood," Riordan explained. "As you might imagine, this is a rare commodity. Ferelden's supply was taken by your late liege and Arl Howe. It was only lately rediscovered and the magical preservation on almost all of it was gone. We have only enough to make one more Warden."

Cauthrien snorted. "Then I suppose I should be flattered."

"You should be. We wouldn't be offering this chance to you were you not a total bad-ass, Cauthrien," Cousland said. "Would you care to say the words, Senior Warden?" he then asked, turning to Riordan.

"I think _you _should say the words, Corin!" Alistair Theirin snapped with sudden heat before Riordan could respond. "Say the words _and_ give her the cup. She's _your _Warden, the one _you_ picked, the one who made the knowing choice. We _get_ that you didn't want to be here! It's not like you _ever_ let us forget it! But you're stuck with us until the Blight is over and you just need to own up to that, _Brother_!"

From what little Cauthrien had seen of him, Corin Cousland was self-possessed to an extreme degree, not unlike her late liege. She was surprised to see that Theirin's outburst took him aback.

"Alistair, I-"

"_Do it_, Corin! It's cruel to her, keeping her waiting!"

"Uh…very well." Such dithering was foreign to the young man as well, Cauthrien suspected. But he mastered himself quickly enough; giving Theirin's stony countenance one quick glance before turning his attention back to her. Riordan stepped forward and handed him the cup. Clearing his throat, the Prince began to speak in measured tones.

"Since the first, these words have been spoken at the ceremony: Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you."

He offered the cup to Cauthrien, meeting her eyes squarely. She took it from him, lifted it and drank, all the while aware of that burning blue gaze. The concoction was indescribably vile-it took all of her self-control to be able to choke it down at all, the corrupted copper tang of it making her gag. The roaring in her ears began immediately, so loud that she could barely hear the final words:

"From this moment on, Cauthrien, you are a Grey Warden."

She fell into white light. There was a dragon waiting for her.


	21. Chapter 21

A short chapter but at least it's a quick update! Thanks to all who have reviewed so far-spectre4hire, SkaterGirl246, Mike, owl208 (x2!), Ronin Kenshin, Marvey4, none, JadeOokami, lazyguy90, animevideogamefreak, karthik9, JordanMatthias and Suilven-and thanks to anyone who might review later.

A very insightful discussion in those reviews, owl and Mike. I quite enjoyed it! The answer to the question was that I hadn't expected Alistair of all people to suddenly rear up and give Corin a reaming, deserved or otherwise. But that's the way it goes sometimes.

I finally get around to being able to write one of my favorite characters in this chapter.

* * *

><p>"Welcome back, Sister," was the first thing that Cauthrien heard. She opened her eyes to find herself in a bed in a room she didn't recognize but from the décor assumed was in the Palace. The Senior Warden was at her bedside, a small smile on his face.<p>

"You are in a room in the palace, next to mine," he told her. "Your armor and weapons have been returned," and he indicated an armor stand over by one wall. "If you wish food or a bath, you need only ring for them. If you have questions, please feel free to come to me with them. I am very happy to welcome you to the Grey Wardens."

"I would love a bath," Cauthrien admitted, wrinkling her nose. "I smell like a jail cell. And some clean clothes. And I'm _starving_!"

Riordan chuckled and went and pulled the bell. "We cannot have our newest sister perishing of starvation right after she has Joined! By all means eat and bathe and get some rest. The servants will see to clean clothes for you-your own if they may be found, others if not. I understand that we are leaving in a few hours for Redcliffe."

"Where are the other Wardens?"

Riordan's face grew still for a moment. "I believe they are still at Fort Drakon."

* * *

><p>It was quiet on the roof of Fort Drakon. There were sentries posted about the perimeter of the wall, but they remained where they were. Corin moved close enough to a couple of them in his wanderings that he was recognized and saluted and asked if he needed anything or an escort, but when he said that he was fine, they left him in peace.<p>

Staying just long enough to see that Cauthrien would survive, he'd left afterwards for the roof and hopefully a little privacy in which to think. Corin suspected that the funeral earlier that evening had affected him more than he'd thought and that it had been the reminder of Highever that had caused his defiance about the Joining. Not that he hadn't meant everything he had said, but now he regretted the way he'd behaved-or at least the fact that it had upset Alistair so. That had not been his intention. His ire had been directed towards Riordan, or more accurately, towards what Riordan represented-the commanders of the Grey Wardens. _Riordan was my substitute Duncan. _But Alistair had quite understandably taken it personally as well. And it was particularly bad form to have been provoking his Warden brother after said brother had gone to so much effort to attend the funeral; something Corin knew had been very hard for him to do.

Corin had not been up on the roof before and hadn't realized that there were ballistae up there, though it was certainly an optimal place for them. Idly, he meandered from one to the other, looking out over their firing arcs, inspecting the mechanisms. The bases, carved with mabari heads, made him smile a bit despite his sour mood. It was a chilly evening, but his cloak was more than sufficient to the task. He found that he rather liked it up on the roof, the city's lights glowing beneath him, the stars glowing above, a chill breeze gently soughing across the stone.

The door to the tower opened. A tall, burly figure was silhouetted in the golden light. The door closed behind it as it stepped onto the roof. Corin sighed, paced to the center of the stone pavement and waited, hands clasped behind his back.

"Riordan took Cauthrien back to the Palace," Alistair said noncommittally as he walked up.

"Good. She'll need to get what rest she can and some food before we leave. I don't think she was eating at all in the jail."

"You should get some rest too."

"I got a very good night's sleep last night. Remember? I'll be all right. The same can't be said of you though. You should get to bed, with or without Leliana."

"I will." He stared down at the pavement for a moment, scuffed his boot along it, then looked back up and met Corin's eyes. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened down there."

Corin threw a hand up in negation. "It's all right. You were right. I was being insulting and a bastard. You had cause."

"It's just that…it's just that it makes me really _angry_ when you talk about Duncan and the Wardens that way. I understand that you hate it, that it wasn't your idea, but it still makes me feel dirty when you go on about that."

"And I understand _that_, but Alistair…we're _never_ going to see eye-to-eye about Duncan. He is one of the things we will just have to agree to disagree about. To you, he's the man who actually bothered to ask you what it was you wanted to do with your life and got you out of the Templars to a future which, while somewhat truncated, at least offered you more freedom than what the Chantry would have." Corin sighed and rubbed his temple. "To me, he is the man who knelt in my dying father's blood and would _not _agree to help me and my mother escape as any decent person would do. No, he sat there and _bargained _with my father, who was in terrible pain, until Father agreed to turn me over to the Grey Wardens. And I'm sorry, but I just can't forget that. I Joined the Wardens under duress and I was _very_ unhappy when I found out just what that entailed-after the fact."

"Corin, if Duncan hadn't dragged you out of there, you would be _dead!_" Alistair said, his expression earnest. "I _know _you! You'd have never left your mother and you would have died."

"You don't know that for sure. Father might have died quickly enough that I could have persuaded her to leave in time. We didn't really encounter any of Howe's men, Alistair, once we were out of the castle. I knew that land like the back of my hand and got us through. I didn't _need_ Duncan's help. And since my mother stayed with him, my father's bargain bought _nothing!_ I might have been able to escape, to raise a resistance, take Highever back."

"Start the civil war a little earlier, you mean? How would that have helped?" In case you hadn't noticed, you've got Highever back anyway! _And_ stopped the civil war! _And_ activated all the old treaties. _And_ gave Ferelden a fighting chance. Not a great chance, but a damn sight better than she'd have had under Loghain! From where I'm standing, I think Duncan made a _great_ deal! It sucked for _you_, but it was good for Ferelden." He reached out, took Corin's shoulders, held him at arms' length and looked him in the eye earnestly.

"I couldn't have done it, Corin. I know you keep saying I could have, but I know my limitations. I'd have been lost in all that political crap in Orzammar. I'd have probably just gone on and killed the werewolves. And all the clever bits in the Gauntlet-the less said about that the better! I'd still be on the _wrong _side of that stupid bridge thingy! Or maybe still eating mince pie with Goldanna in the Fade. And hey, while we're on that subject-why is it that a _demon_ pretending to be my sister is nicer than the real thing?" That got him a bit of a smile from his Warden brother, so he soldiered on. "I knew the other Wardens. You never got the chance to. There wasn't a noble in the lot. I think Duncan knew he was going to need someone with your skill set, the training your father gave you. That's why he did what he did and was such a total bastard. Nobles don't let their children go easily. When he had a chance at one, he took it. Because for Duncan, defeating the Blight was all that mattered." He let Corin go.

"That's as may be, Alistair." Corin rubbed his temple again. "But you say you feel dirty when I talk badly about the Wardens? I've felt dirty since I _became_ one. If I think too much about it, I can almost _feel_ the Taint crawling through my veins. Did you know I didn't even want to have sex for the longest time after the Joining? I didn't want to shoot _that_ into some woman."

He half expected Alistair to blush or stammer at the very idea. Instead, his Warden brother just snorted. "_Drama_, much?" Alistair scoffed. "I've got news for you, Ser I'm-Too-Soiled-To-Sleep-With-A-Woman. Your memory sucks. It was maybe a _month_, tops, before you and Morrigan were going at it like a pair of demented minks. I know, because we could all _hear_ the two of you carrying on, even as far away as she liked to camp. I'll take darkspawn nightmares any time instead of _that_, thank you very much."

Corin blinked in astonishment, but Alistair wasn't finished. "You know what your problem is? You _think_ too damned much! Think, think, think all the time. Worry, worry, worry. Plot, plot, plot. You should try just being oblivious every once in a while. _I_ find it very restful."

"Maker! You are such a total _prat_, Alistair Theirin!" Corin managed to choke out before exploding into laughter. Alistair joined him and they simply laughed together for a while.

Eventually, Alistair coughed a bit and stopped. "I know what this was really about," he declared.

"Oh, you do, Ser Oblivious-Yet-Insightful-At-The-Same-Time?"

"Yes, I do. You always said you wouldn't make your worst enemy a Warden. And then you realized that making Cauthrien a Warden was a good idea, because she didn't have a future otherwise and we needed more Wardens. But you didn't like going back on your stated word, so you took it out on Riordan and me. And that's all right. Because it _was_ a good idea. If we had to make only one Warden, then Cauthrien was a good choice because of her sheer bad-assery. She survived the Joining, so we have four Wardens now instead of three. Our chances of ending the Blight just got twenty-five percent better." Alistair gave Corin a sober look. "And she knew _exactly_ what she was getting into, so that should salve your conscience. I don't know if it's ever happened before that way before, but she's the one Warden who went in with her eyes open."

"There could be more. I think the Wardens should give up this whole secrecy thing."

"They'd never get any recruits."

"Four words for you. Legion of the Dead. Similar sacrifice, plenty of volunteers."

"The Legion doesn't take in the Taint."

"Maybe the Wardens should let people know that's what they do. Explain exactly the nature of the sacrifice they make to keep Thedas safe. Then perhaps there wouldn't be the problems they get when Blights are far apart and people have forgotten they're needed. There would be people who would volunteer, Alistair. Elves, for instance. Live your life subsisting on sufferance in an alienage or live free and respected as a Grey Warden? Mages too. Not all of them would, but you've got to know that there are some who would rather live free for thirty years accomplishing something in the world than pent in a tower all their lives. And there are humans who would make that sacrifice to leave a troubled past behind and wipe the slate clean."

"It's not our decision to make."

"No, it's not. And we've certainly got other problems at present. But I won't forget." He clapped Alistair on the shoulder. "Let's go try to get some rest. It's an early day tomorrow." There was a moment's hesitation. "And thank you for coming up here after me. You are the last person I want to be at odds with now."

Alistair shrugged. "Hey, not that I'm speaking from personal experience or anything, but I've heard that even brothers who love each other fight every now and again."

"Well I _can_ speak from personal experience and it is true. Both the love and the fighting part." Corin grinned. "Come on, you big, sweaty hunk of cheese."

"Somehow, I think I'm going to regret having ever said that."

"Somehow, I _know_ you are."

They were halfway to the rooftop door when it opened and a soldier stepped through. "Your Royal Highness?"

"Yes."

"Bann Alfstanna is in the chapel down on the first floor. She's got a man with her she says you need to see. Something about the darkspawn."

"Please tell her I'll be right down."

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

><p>Travel down to the first floor was occupied mostly with Corin trying unsuccessfully to rouse some enthusiasm in Alistair for the horse the Crown Prince had selected as his mount for the journey to Redcliffe. Said horse had been chosen for Alistair in absentia while he'd been off seeing to his funeral suit that afternoon. They could hear voices as they approached the chapel, one of them obviously Alfstanna's. The other, a man's voice, caused Corin to stop in his tracks and clutch Alistair's arm in a sudden death grip. Alistair turned to look at him, startled to find that his Warden brother's face had drained of all color until it looked pale as whey.<p>

"This is a _fine_ way to run a kingdom, Alfie!" the man's voice was saying. "You make a Crown Prince and then you _lose_ him? We've already been all over the Palace and now we've got to walk all over _Drakon_? Pup's always been a bit scatterbrained, but this is ridiculous!"

"Oh,_ thank you, _blessed Bride of the Maker!" Corin murmured fervently, releasing Alistair's arm, for which Alistair was grateful, as Corin had quite a grip. The Crown Prince took several deep breaths and to Alistair's relief the color began to come back into his face. Reaching up to settle his crown a little more firmly, he smiled suddenly, joyously, his eyes glowing. Then he took the last few steps and turned the corner into the chapel.

"And what in the Maker's name has come over Pup while I've been gone, I'd like to know!" the man was grumbling as they entered. He was a rough-looking sort, Alistair noted, bearded and scruffy, his armor an odd assortment of Ferelden and what looked to be Chasind. A red scar ran down his right cheek across the temple into his hairline. He had half a dozen men with him, equally scruffy and similarly crudely accoutered, but the shields a couple of them bore, blazoned with much-faded laurel wreaths, gave Alistair a clue as to the reasons for Corin's behavior. A clue that was confirmed when Corin stepped forward grinning and said coolly,

"That's _Crown Prince _Pup to you, old man! Took your sweet time getting here, didn't you?"

And then suddenly he was in the scruffy man's arms and they were pounding each other on the back and laughing and crying at the same time, exclaiming "Fergus!" and "Pup!" while Bann Alfstanna watched them, sniffling, and the Highever men with Fergus cheered.

"Fergus," Corin said eventually, unashamedly wiping tears from his eyes, "this is my Warden brother Alistair Theirin. Alistair, this is my older brother Fergus Cousland."

Alistair extended his hand, giving the older Cousland a closer and frankly curious inspection. Fergus didn't look much like Corin; he was shorter, browner, and nowhere near so flagrantly handsome as his younger brother. But they did have something in common in the shape of their eyes and the way they smiled, though Fergus's nose looked like it had more than a passing acquaintance with bar-room brawls. His was a rugged, amiable, lived-in sort of face and Alistair decided that he rather liked it. The Teyrn was giving him a similar inspection and seemed to have come to a similar conclusion.

"So _you're_ Theirin, eh?" He gave Alistair's hand a firm squeeze. "I'm very pleased to meet you."

"And I you, my lord teyrn."

"'My lord teyrn', is it? I thought my power-hungry little brother had snapped up the teyrnir as well as the crown." But Cousland was grinning as he said it.

"Fergus!" Alfstanna remonstrated. "I was there! Corin did just as he ought to, and claimed the teyrnir for himself only in your absence!"

Fergus chuckled. "Don't get all chafed, Alfie! I'm just pulling his leg!"

"You might want to be careful how much of that leg-pulling you do, Fergus," Corin noted with a satisfied smile. "I've already got half a head on you, after all."

"Yes, you do and how bloody unfair is _that_? I'm the elder-I should be taller."

"Well, people do shrink with _age_," Corin said helpfully and got his shoulder punched by way of reward. Then he suddenly became all business. "The man who came for me said you had some news about the darkspawn, Fergus. Is that true or was Bann Alfstanna just trying to surprise me?"

Fergus cocked his head, surprised at Corin's crisp tone, surveying his little brother thoughtfully for a moment. "No, it's true. Alfie told me you'd intended to set out for Redcliffe in the morning, to join the army up there because that's where you thought the horde was going."

"It is, according to the reports we've gotten."

"Well I hate to tell you this, little brother, but we dodged our way around a very large army of darkspawn on our way in here. They were in the southern part of South Reach, headed north and west along the south bank of the Drakon. I figure they'll be here in about four or five days."

"Damn! Are you sure?"

"Oh yes, I'm _sure_," Fergus said drily. "It made life very interesting for us for a while. We were trying to balance keeping safe with actually finding out some useful information for whoever was in charge here. Until I got to the city, I thought that was Loghain. I would have told him, even if it meant my arrest, if there were no other choice but I was trying to find someone I could relay the information safely to and avoid that consequence. We were skulking around in the Marketplace tonight, keeping our blazons covered, when I ran into Alfie going into the Gnawed Noble after Loghain's service."

"I'm amazed you were able to recognize him, Bann Alfstanna," Corin said. "He's looking even scruffier than usual."

"I've known Teyrn Fergus since I was a very little girl, Your Royal Highness," Bann Alfstanna said primly, high color on her fair-skinned face. "I would know him _anywhere_." Corin cocked an inquiring eyebrow in her direction and the color deepened.

"In any event, Alfie was giving me all the latest news when this elf suddenly runs up to me out of nowhere," Fergus said. "Are you Fergus Cousland?" he asks. Since it was safe to admit it, I said yes. He hands me this _book_ of a letter, says it was from you and runs off. So Alfie takes me and the men into the tavern and we get ourselves some dinner. I read your letter and she finishes catching me up on what happened after the letter, which of course was very interesting stuff. I must say, of all the things that could have happened in my absence, you getting betrothed to Anora and becoming Crown Prince was never even on my list."

"It wasn't exactly what I set out to do either," Corin admitted. "Things just worked out that way. About this army, Fergus-did you see a dragon with it?"

The teyrn shook his head. "Didn't get close enough to see it if it was marching. But we didn't see a dragon flying."

"Well this changes everything we've planned. It's a real piece of luck you came when you did-we'd have been badly surprised otherwise. Come on-we've got to get back to the Palace. I need to wake Eamon and the Queen."


	22. Chapter 22

Wow! Zukafew119! You're a reviewing powerhouse, plowing through this very long story all at once! Thank you! And thanks Mike for your kind review on the first chapter! Thanks as well to everyone who reviewed the last chapter-Psyche Sinclair, mille libri (and for 20!), Gwynedde, animevideogamefreak, none, lazyguy90, Suilven, spectre4hire, Cibiripilli, Mike, JordanMathias, owl208, Jade Ookami, karthik9, Marvey4 (this chapter should answer the questions in your review) and Ronin Kenshin. The reception this story has gotten has beyond my wildest expectations. Thank you all very much!

This chapter's a bit of a mixed bag. There's a lot of ground to cover before things really start moving, which they should next chapter.

* * *

><p>"Rhys, Morris, Phillip, Coulter, Carl, Captain Rickard," Corin said to Fergus's men as they hurried back to the Palace. "I can never thank you enough for bringing my brother back safe to me. I wish I could tell you that your families were safe in turn, but until yesterday I was a hunted fugitive myself and I've not been near Highever since it fell. I don't even know who is holding the city at present, though I mean to find out as soon as this is over."<p>

"You're very welcome, Lord Corin-I mean Your Royal Highness," the Captain said. "From the sound of things there is a bit more fighting to do before we can settle Highever. We understand."

"Let's get you all beds and baths and food, shall we? And _definitely_ something to drink!"

"We like the way you think, Sire!" Coulter, who'd always been a bit of a smart-mouth, said. The others laughed.

Fergus Cousland watched his brother surreptitiously as they went. He'd known of Highever's fate long before he'd arrived in Denerim, the word had had time to spread even to the smaller villages and hamlets by now. Corin's letter had described the night of the massacre in clinical detail. Fergus had needed a couple of drinks himself just to get through the account under Alfstanna's sympathetic eye and he knew that at some point in the future he would have to give himself time to mourn his father and mother and wife and son. _But I don't have the luxury right now._

What he'd not been able to discern from the letter was what that night had done to Corin. Some of what was in the letter of events after Highever seemed too fabulous to be real, though Alfstanna had confirmed a lot of that. What the letter hadn't said anything about was the way that Corin had shot up and filled out in the last year. _Maker, he's a bruiser now! I don't think __**I'd**_ _want to fight him! Must get it from the grandfathers and great-grandfather Bryland._

Corin had been a boy when Fergus had set off for Ostagar. A genial, considerate boy, mature for his age, but still a boy. In the last year, he'd become a man and apparently, an extraordinary one, who'd somehow managed to outmaneuver Loghain and perhaps even Eamon on their own ground. _He's Father during the Orlesian occupation, _Fergus mused_. Or some other of those very young men, forced to grow up fast and hard._

Upon their arrival in the Palace, Corin found a couple of guardsmen and began giving clipped, concise orders regarding gathering the banns in the large council chamber an hour hence. He sent a footman in search of Eamon and Teagan and servants hastening to warm and ready the chambers used for Highever's men-at-arms. "Make them comfortable and give them whatever they want to eat and drink-these men brought my brother the teyrn back home to me!"

"Yes, Your Royal Highness!" the replies came and the scurrying began.

"Our suite is open Fergus," Corin said, heading up the stairs towards the Cousland suite. "I'm sorry, but my people are in it. The main bedroom is empty though-they left it for me, but you can have it."

"And where exactly are you going to sleep?"

"Ah, that's a good question!" Alistair Theirin said with a chuckle.

His younger brother's cheeks colored slightly. "_If _I get any sleep tonight, which is by no means a foregone conclusion, I'll do it in the royal suite. There's an extra bedroom there I can use."

Fergus's eyes narrowed in speculation. "Corin, have you bedded Anora _already_?"

"Fergus, we're betrothed, remember? She asked me to, given that I'm riding off to war. Said it was a good time to be working on the baby thing."

"She always was a sensible sort. Do you think I have time to get a bath before the meeting? I really don't want to make my first big entrance after a year's absence in a wafting wave of body odor. It was bad enough inflicting that on Alfie."

"We'll make time for you. Have you any clothes here?"

"I think there are a couple of things."

"If not, then ring. They'll find something for you. Or I can bring you something out of Cailan's wardrobe."

"I think I'll pass on that. It's rather morbid," Fergus said, his nose wrinkling. "And his clothes won't fit _me_ in any event."

"There are a few things he never wore. I'm using them mostly. But we were of a size and it doesn't make sense to make new things. I have no idea how this whole Blight business is going to end." Corin paused for a moment and smiled. "Though I suspect it's going to end better than it would have if you'd not come."

"Let's hope so."

Despite the relatively late hour, some of Corin's associates were apparently still awake when they entered the suite. The sound of a lute being softly played was coming from the library. Corin had stopped a servant on his way up to the chambers to request a bath be drawn, and the first steaming ewer of water was coming in right behind them.

"Would you like to meet my friends?" he inquired of Fergus.

"I would, but not until I'm a little more presentable." Corin nodded.

"Well, get yourself cleaned up then. I'll go wake Anora up."

Alistair went into the library to inform Leliana and whoever else was up of Fergus's presence. "Trust me, my lord, you don't want Wynne or particularly _Morrigan_ thinking you're some sort of intruder," he told Fergus with a shudder before he left them.

There was a sudden sound of skittering claws on stone. Corin was halfway out the door. Fergus's head snapped up in alarm.

"Corin! _Don't_ tell me you still have that overgrown horse of a maba-urk! _Pooka!_" he cried in alarm as a brown body launched itself at him. Bigger things than Fergus had gone down under such an assault and Corin's brother hit the floor with a resounding thud. He found himself prone, the better part of Pooka's bulk planted firmly upon his chest. Ridiculous, high-pitched yips and whimpers of joy were being interspersed with enthusiastic licks from a tongue the size of a small washcloth.

Totally at the mabari's mercy, he raised hands to push futilely at the muscled bulk. "Yes, Pook, I'm glad to see you too. Yuck! Must say though, you smell better than usual! Guess you need to bathe if you live in the palace. Bleck! _Stop_ that! I don't Orlesian kiss till the _second _date! _Corin_! Get him _off_ me!"

"Sorry brother. Duty calls," came the insincerely regretful response from his treacherous younger sibling beside the door. Footsteps began to recede down the hall, but Corin's voice still echoed back. "Besides, look at it this way. He's getting started on that clean-up you were wanting!"

* * *

><p>Erlina answered the door after a couple of minutes of intermittent soft knocking.<p>

"What is it, Your Highness? The Queen, she is sleeping. She had a bad evening of it. You know she told you not to come."

"Did she take a draught, Erlina?"

"No, though I told her that she should. But she worried that she would not wake on time tomorrow morning to say good-bye to you."

"Well, I need to see her now. Something has come up."

"What is it, Corin?" Anora said from the door to the bedroom. She was in her blue robe and looked weary. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Corin doubted she'd gotten to sleep at all.

"Fergus is back. He came in this evening."

She gasped. "_Fergus_? And he's all right?"

"I think he's had a rough time of it, he looks pretty ragged and he's got a very rascally looking new scar; but yes, he's all right."

"Praise be to the Maker! Oh, this is good news! I am so very happy for you!"

"I'm ecstatic, as you can imagine. But he also brought with him some news that wasn't so good. The darkspawn aren't marching on Redcliffe like we thought, Anora. They're coming up the south bank of the Drakon. He says we've got four, maybe five days before they get here."

"I had wondered why they'd be backtracking to Redcliffe since they're already expanded past there," the Queen said with a thoughtful frown. "But then they are supposed to be mindless, after all." She looked up at Corin. "You've called a council, I take it?"

"Yes, for about an hour from now-more like three quarters of an hour now. I've got people rousting out Eamon and Teagan and all the banns. We'll meet in the large council chamber."

"Very well, then. I'll be there. Erlina-I think the brown gown will serve well enough for this." She started to turn away, then turned back to Corin. "Cauthrien?"

"Is Warden Cauthrien now."

Blue eyes half-lidded, she pondered the news for a moment, then nodded her head decisively. "That is for the best, I think. It is good to have another Warden."

"It is." He bowed. "I will see you in an hour, my lady." She nodded.

"Until then, my lord."

* * *

><p>Fergus Cousland was not one for a lot of fuss and bother. None of the Couslands had kept personal body servants. But he did know how to use them when an emergency required it, and once he'd gotten rid of Pooka by using the bath word, he kept four of the palace manservants hopping for a frantic half hour. Two of them poured the hot water over him while he soaped and scrubbed his hair and body, not even waiting for the tub to fill up, while two more aired and brushed one of the suits he left here in case of emergency and polished a spare pair of boots. In half an hour's time he was out of the bath and being shaved by one of the bath servants while the other gave his hair a quick trim. Fifteen minutes after that he was dressed. While not a polished picture of noble perfection, he was at least passably neat and clean, if still a bit damp. <em>And I certainly smell a lot better, <em>he thought gratefully as he thanked and dismissed the men.

Walking out into the main room, he found that an audience had gathered, waiting for him. There was an elderly woman in what looked to be Circle robes; a beautiful young red-headed woman in a robe with the previously heard lute dangling from one hand; another beautiful woman, this one dark-haired, wearing an extremely distracting black gown and aloof expression and a male elf with pale blond hair and some exotic tattoos curling over his bronzed cheek. Alistair Theirin was there as well, a disgruntled expression on his face.

"Come on, people! It's not like he's an exhibit in a traveling menagerie, for Maker's sake! He's the Teyrn of Highever!"

"It is a very great pleasure to meet you, my lord teyrn," the elderly woman said with a smile.

"And I you, Senior Enchanter Wynne," Fergus responded with a bow.

"_Enchanté, _my lord Fergus," the red-head trilled.

"While you yourself are simply enchanting, Mistress Leliana," he said, taking her hand up for a kiss. Leliana giggled.

The dark-haired woman merely looked him up and down slowly and thoroughly, then turned on her heel without so much as word and went back into one of the bedrooms, closing the door behind her.

"And a good evening to you as well, Mistress Morrigan," Fergus called after her, his eyebrows raised.

"Don't take it personally," Alistair told him. "That's actually about as friendly as she ever gets, except with Corin."

Fergus gave Alistair an inquiring look. "They weren't…were they?"

"Were. Aren't now, what with the Queen and all."

"Is that going to be a problem?"

"Not really. Morrigan dropped him before he took up with Anora. As long as it's her idea, she seems to be fine with things."

"I…see." He turned his attention to the elf. "And you must be Master Arainai."

"I am indeed, my lord teyrn," Zevran said with a bow. "Zevran Arainai, formerly of the Crows."

Fergus's eyebrow cocked. "So I've heard. But that's a claim that is not often made by someone who is actually still breathing."

"That is true!" Arainai chuckled. "And I have your brother to thank for that. We are very pleased to see you, my lord. It is good to know that Corin has some family left after all."

"As I had thought him dead as well, it was a pleasant revelation for me too. Although I must admit, I was a little surprised to see that he had landed so…thoroughly…on his feet."

The assassin laughed. He seemed an oddly cheerful sort for one in his line of work. "It has been an interesting year, my lord."

"I can imagine. I hope to have the time to discuss it further with you all later. But I'm afraid I'm needed in council now. A good evening to all of you." He looked at Alistair. "Are you supposed to be at the Council as well, Warden Theirin?"

"Please, sir. Call me Alistair. And yes, I suspect I'm supposed to be there," he added glumly. "Corin thinks these things are good for me."

"Councils do build character," Fergus Cousland declared heartily, starting for the door, "as well as calluses on your butt-cheeks."

"I am of the belief you can have too much character, sir," Alistair said, following him.

"Please, Alistair. Enough of the sirs and my lords. We have a brother in common, after all. I'm Fergus."

Alistair smiled. "Thank you for that, si…I mean, Fergus. We'll need to stop on the way and pick up Riordan and Cauthrien. I'm sure Corin thinks they need some character-building too."

* * *

><p>Fergus Cousland was the bravest man Alistair had ever met, he decided, and that included Corin. Or his family's demise had given him a death wish. Alistair wasn't sure which. Because he couldn't imagine any other reason why the man would walk up to Queen Anora, grin and say softly, "Hello, 'Nora. How's that bedding my baby brother thing working out for you?"<p>

Fortunately, Corin was across the room, talking to a sleepy looking Eamon. Riordan and Cauthrien had immediately gone there as well, Cauthrien removing herself from Anora's proximity as swiftly as possible. Loghain's former lieutenant alive and free was garnering the attention of most everyone in the room.

So only Alistair was present to see Anora's chin lift and her eyes go arctic.

"Fergus Cousland. Wonderful. It's taken me a _year_ in your absence to elevate the level of discourse in this kingdom back to something above a schoolboy's playground brawl, and now my work will all be undone. Alas."

Undaunted, the suicidal teyrn actually took her in his arms and hugged her, saying, "I'm so sorry, 'Nora. I just can't believe they're gone. Either of them." To Alistair's amazement, Anora actually _kissed_ Fergus's scarred cheek and hugged him back. From across the room, he saw Corin turn and give them an odd look.

"I am sorry too, Fergus. If I had known about Highever, please believe that I would have stopped it. But it was over before I even knew about it."

"I know that, 'Nora. I'm just glad you're safe."

She released him and gently traced the line of the scar on his face. "From the look of things, _you _very nearly weren't."

"I was sick and off my head for a very long time. Didn't even remember who I was at first. But that's a tale for later." He nodded his head on Corin's direction. "Seriously, are you all right with this?"

"Your brother has been very good to me. He rescued me from Howe's house, did you know?"

"Yes. He wrote me this very long letter and left it with the elves, of all people. They found me almost as soon as I hit Denerim."

"How very extraordinary. But then, he is an extraordinary young man. I did use to wonder if perhaps he'd had some sort of disfiguring accident or something. Your parents never brought him to court after that time when he was what...ten?"

Fergus shrugged. "It just never worked out that there was a good time up until about fourteen. We were going to bring him one winter when he was twelve, but he promptly got the measles. And after he turned fourteen, he was doing that horse thing of his with the Orlesian fellow, who didn't want to go to court himself in case the ambassador saw him and reported him to Selene. And Corin didn't want to interrupt his training."

"Ah yes. The horse thing. I gave him Sable the other day."

"Sable was possibly the best present you could have given him, of everything in the whole kingdom."

"So I discovered. Alistair. A good evening to you." Noticing the lords all beginning to cluster about a large table where a large map of Ferelden had been unfurled, Anora gestured towards it and said, "Perhaps we should get down to it. Gentlemen?"

* * *

><p>"If Teyrn Loghain were still in charge, this would not have happened!" Ceorlic whined, when Fergus's news had been given to the banns.<p>

"Until yesterday, Teyrn Loghain _was_ in charge, Bann Ceorlic," Corin snapped in an icy tone that caused several lords to look glance among themselves uneasily. "So in essence, it _did_ happen on his watch. My apologies, my Queen," he said to Anora, who nodded, then gave Ceorlic a very intimidating, narrow-eyed glare. The bann subsided and the Crown Prince continued. "And this is where Ostagar bites us in the arse one more time, ladies, gentlemen. Because if we'd still had the Wardens we lost there, we could have sent Warden scouts out and they'd have been a lot less likely to be fooled. They are better than regular scouts at determining the darkspawns' intent."

"Do we have any way of determining the total numbers in the horde?" Anora asked. "Is it possible that they are attacking _both_ Redcliffe and Denerim in force?"

"That is indeed more than possible, Your Majesty," Riordan said, his face serious. "There are darkspawn with more volition that the average darkspawn-the Archdemon's generals. Such a one _could_ mount an assault without the Archdemon's direct supervision. It would not be as effective or flexible as a human commander, but it could give us considerable trouble nonetheless." A shocked, fearful murmur ran around the room.

"Then how are we going to prevail?" Wulffe asked.

"There is only _one_ Archdemon," the Orlesian Warden said. "and formidable though it may be, it cannot be in two places at once. We must discover where it is and throw everything we have at it, so as to get a Warden close, even if that means sacrificing Redcliffe or Denerim or both. We cannot win a war of attrition."

"That's easy for you to say, _Orlesian_," Ceorlic muttered.

"I was actually born in Ferelden, my lord," Riordan said, his voice cool. "In Highever, as a matter of fact," he said with a nod towards Fergus. "Which is why I was chosen to come over the border in the first place. But where I was born does not change the fact that it would be easier to totally rebuild two Ferelden cities than to try to cleanse an entire country of Blighted land. Stopping the Blight as quickly as possible should be our only concern." Mutters of approval followed this statement.

"I take it you have an idea about how to accomplish that, Warden?" Bann Alfstanna asked.

"I do," Riordan said with a firm nod. "Our non-human allies in Redcliffe will answer best to the Crown Prince and he is, I understand, a very good rider. I propose that he ride to Redcliffe. I will be riding with him for part of the way, but I will break off and see if I can close with the host. I am the oldest Warden here and my skills are the strongest. I will be able to sense the Archdemon and its purpose without having to get so close as one of the newer Wardens would have to. Since we know for a fact that a large horde is approaching Denerim, Warden Theirin and Warden Cauthrien should stay here in case the Archdemon is with this horde."

"_Ser_ _Cauthrien _is a Warden now?" Bann Sighard asked.

"She is indeed," Riordan said. "She was Conscripted earlier this evening. Wardens leave their former existence behind when they Join us. I would ask that you all keep that in mind when dealing with Warden Cauthrien."

There was some muttering at that, but it did not continue for long. Cauthrien kept her eyes upon the map on the table, spots of color on her high cheekbones.

"If I find that the Archdemon is not with the northern horde," Riordan continued, "I will ride to join the Prince at Redcliffe and we will send a messenger north for the two Wardens here and what armies that can be spared from the defense of Denerim. I would strongly suggest that you not worry about saving Denerim and send every man you have. If the Archdemon is with the northern horde, I will return to Denerim and send a messenger to the Prince to bring the armies massed at Redcliffe north. The same stipulation about sending as many men as possible applies to him."

"I think I have just the right messenger in mind, Riordan," Corin said. "Another really good…rider who can get to me very quickly. She should go with you."

"And this person is?"

"Later."

"Very well then. I will not presume to advise you upon how to defend Denerim, my lords," Riordan said, turning his attention back to the banns. "But I will say this. If the Archdemon _is_ headed this way it would be best to make only a token defense and save what troops you may until the other armies can reach us. One strong, concerted push will have a greater chance of success than a couple of feeble ones."

"Attrition again," Eamon said.

"Exactly."

"I will ride with the Crown Prince then. I fear for Connor and Isolde and if Redcliffe _is_ being attacked, my place is there."

"Glad to have you, my lord arl."

"I will go as well," Teagan said.

"And you, Teagan."

"You _will _have an escort, Corin!" Anora said severely. "That is not negotiable. You are hardly the only person in this kingdom who knows how to fork a horse."

"I have Redcliffe knights who ride well, Your Majesty," Eamon said. "It will be our honor to escort the Prince."

Corin bowed to his betrothed. "See? All taken care of. Now as for you-you need to leave Denerim. You need to be free to move about, rather than be pinned behind walls that might not be defensible."

"I cannot simply flee and leave our people to face the darkspawn alone!"

"He's right, Anora," Fergus put in. "You need to get out of the city. And we need to evacuate all of the non-combatants as well. Send them north, towards Amaranthine would be my suggestion. Leave just enough of a force in Denerim to draw the Archdemon's attention, and pull the rest of the army north as well, to guard the non-combatants' retreat and wait for word."

"Very well then," Anora conceded, though she was obviously unhappy. "Fergus, Corin took the teyrnir specifically in your absence, so you are officially Teyrn of Highever now, without the necessity of further action from the Landsmeet. As such, you are the ranking nobleman in Ferelden and the command of the northern forces is yours. Do you accept this charge?"

Fergus bowed. "I do, Your Majesty," he said readily enough, though his weariness was apparent on his face.

"Well, the good news is that all of you folks who were going to have to ride out with me in a few hours are off the hook," Corin said with a grin. He got a few chuckles as a result.

"But don't think you can sleep in too late, my lords," Fergus warned. "We'll be meeting here mid-morning to firm up plans for the evacuation and the city's defense. I'll be needing to see the commander of Fort Drakon and whoever is in charge of the City Guard as well."

"Are we done then for tonight, Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness?" Alfstanna asked. Corin looked at Anora, who nodded.

"We thank you for your time and attention, my lords," she said, formally dismissing them. The lords began filing out of the room; several, including Leonas Bryland (who was after all, family on Eleanor's side) pausing to speak to Fergus about his miraculous escape from Ostagar. Riordan approached Corin and Alistair, Cauthrien in tow.

"Is there someplace private we could speak, Your Royal Highness? We have Warden business to discuss."

"Certainly. I think there's a smaller room just across the hall here." Corin gave Anora a nod and a smile of farewell. Then they all filed out after him into the smaller room, which seemed to be some sort of antechamber or waiting area, perhaps for servants or guards. The lamps were lit, and there was actually a small hearth with a lit fire. Riordan made a brief visual inspection, noting that there was only one door. He closed it behind him and turned to face the junior Wardens.

"I noticed last night when you were explaining the secrets of the Order to Warden Cauthrien that you made one rather glaring omission, Your Royal Highness," Riordan said drily. "And given that Warden Theirin did not volunteer the information, I have to assume that neither of you are in possession of it."

"What omission is this, Senior Warden?" Corin asked.

"Were neither of you ever told how an Archdemon is slain?"

"I was only a Warden for two hours before the Battle of Ostagar. So no, it never came up. How about you, Alistair?"

"Duncan never got around to discussing it with me. He was teaching me about the Order a bit at a time. I knew that Wardens were needed to kill the Archdemon, but not exactly why."

"You explained that at the Landsmeet, didn't you, Riordan?" Corin asked, his brow furrowed. "You said that if a Warden does not kill the Archdemon, it simply leaps into another darkspawn body and keeps going, being functionally immortal."

"I did. Weisshaupt won't be pleased with me revealing even that much, but it does sometimes happen that such explanations are necessary to expedite winning the cooperation we need. But what I did not explain was the mechanism of it all."

"Does this have to do with the Taint?" Cauthrien asked.

"It does indeed. The Taint links all the darkspawn and the Archdemon-and to some extent the Wardens-together. Because of the Taint, when a Warden slays an Archdemon, the soul of the Archdemon passes into his or her body. A darkspawn is a soulless vessel. The Archdemon may inhabit any of them at any time. A Grey Warden is not soulless. When the Archdemon enters the Grey Warden's body, the two souls cannot inhabit the same body at the same time. Both souls are destroyed and the Grey Warden and the Archdemon both die."

Silence fell, broken only by the crackling of the fire. "It would be worth it," Cauthrien said softly at last, "to stop the Blight and save all those lives."

"So the Wardens have always believed," Riordan answered.

Alistair threw a worried look at Corin, who had taken up the poker, was stirring up the fire and staring expressionlessly into the flames. But when he spoke, his voice was perfectly calm.

"That's the last of them, then? The last deep, dark secret? No more shoes to drop?"

"That is the last of them," the Senior Warden averred. "During Blights in times past, the Senior Wardens would decide amongst themselves who would strike the final blow. I am the oldest Warden here and the Taint will not spare me much longer in any event. If there is any way I can accomplish this, I will strike that final blow." He looked around at each of them in turn. "But if I cannot, then one of you _must_ do this. If the Blight is not stopped soon, Ferelden will be a blighted wasteland from border to border and all within those borders will die."

Corin nodded, still staring into the flames. "We understand our duty, Riordan."

Riordan gave him a sympathetic look, which he did not see. "I know you do. Willing or no, there have been few Wardens who have ever accomplished so much against such steep odds. I wish you all a good night. Highness, I will see you in the morning."

"Until then, Senior Warden," Corin responded without looking up. Riordan went out the door. When he had gone, Corin said, "I'm really sorry, Cauthrien."

"Don't be. If Riordan fails in this, then I will take the blow. Neither of you should have to." He looked up at her. Cauthrien's expression was serene. "It is a far, far better death than I would have had. A death with honor. I am very comfortable with that. I know what _he _would have expected me to do." There was no question about who _he_ was.

"Indeed."

"Good night. I suppose I will see you in the morning at least, Alistair?"

"Of course. Good night, Cauthrien...I mean, sister."

She actually smiled at that. A small smile but it changed her sharp-featured face into something close to pretty. When she had gone, closing the door behind her, Alistair looked over at his dearest friend.

"Corin, you won't have to, I swear it. I'll take the blow before you do."

"And that's supposed to make me feel _better_?" The anger Alistair had been expecting finally surfaced in a snarl. "You think I wouldn't miss you? _Hate_ the fact that you died for me? You can't make those sorts of promises, Alistair, and you shouldn't! Cauthrien shouldn't either." Corin made a visible effort to calm himself. "I took the oath too and I do take my oaths seriously. I may bitch about them, but I do fulfill them. You can't predict how the battle will fall out. We all are going to have to do our damnedest to kill that thing and whoever it falls to will have to take the blow. That's all there is to it. So there's no use saying any one of us is less expendable than the others."

"But _you_ are! You're the Crown Prince. You're going to be King."

"Am I?" Corin laughed then and it was an ugly thing.

"Well of course you are. Why wouldn't you?"

"Ah, Alistair. I do love you, brother. You really don't see it, do you?"

"See what?"

"See that my brother returning changes _everything_? Fergus is the _rightful_ Teyrn of Highever. The banns like him. Anora likes him."

Alistair suddenly remembered the odd look Corin had given Fergus and Anora earlier, when they'd been hugging in the council chamber. Corin saw his expression and nodded.

"You're beginning to see where I'm going with this. Fergus is a legitimate Cousland too. But he's _not_ a Grey Warden, with all the political baggage that entails. And what he _is_ is a man who has already proven beyond a doubt that he can give a woman a child." Corin smiled grimly at the look of appalled comprehension in Alistair's eyes. "That's right. You get it now. I just got a whole lot more expendable."


	23. Chapter 23

I may have to take a little break here-I've done nothing useful but write the last couple of days. But the muse has been very cooperative.

Thanks to Zikarn Krais (what a dark and devious mind you have!), Suilven, Zukafew119 (almost caught up and you get something you asked for this chapter!), Mike (for both reviews-hopefully this chapter will clear up some of your concerns), mille libri, spectre4hire, Marvey4, JadeOokami, owl208, Tsu Doh Nimh, animevideogamefreak, none, Gemini1179, lazyguy90 (your questions about a certain relationship will be answered here), karthik9 and anyone who may review this chapter after the fact, since I'm updating so quickly. The over three hundred reviews full of kind commentary don't have a thing to do with that, no they don't...

* * *

><p>Sister Agnetha pushed the door of the Palace chapel open carefully. It was a large and magnificent room, more than equal to holding a sizeable portion of the Palace's folk for services. She knew that the Revered Mother sometimes held service there, and sometimes one of her underlings did. But Agnetha had never had cause to see it.<p>

A note and a carriage sent by the Crown Prince had changed all that.

"I should accompany the Sister, if the Crown Prince requires spiritual counseling," the Revered Mother had told the guard who had brought the letter.

"I don't have any orders about you, Revered Mother. Just the Sister," the guard had said. "I'm sorry."

This had precipitated several minutes of intense questioning on the Revered Mother's part before she let Agnetha go. What had Agnetha done that had caused such interest on the part of the Crown Prince? She certainly hoped he hadn't given Agnetha any _untoward_ attention! Agnetha said that nothing of the kind had happened, that he had been very polite. She admitted that she'd blessed him before the Landsmeet, and that he'd apparently liked the blessing. "Did you not think to come and get me or one of the mothers for that task?" the question had come.

"Oh, but of course, Revered Mother. But you were in a prayer meeting and had specifically said that you did not wish to be disturbed. Brother Genitivi said that since I was on duty I should give him the blessing. So I did. It was my very first one and I told him so. But he was very nice and said that he would be happy to take my first blessing."

"And what form did this blessing take? Did you use an appropriate scripture?"

"No. I…just sort of made it up. I said that I hoped he would make good decisions and not have to fight, but if he did, that the Maker would look after him."

"That seems innocuous enough. Very well then, you may go. But I wish to speak with you upon your return. The favor of the powerful can be a dangerous, heady thing and you are very newly come to your status."

"Yes, Revered Mother."

Now, as she slipped quietly up the center aisle, she could see Corin Cousland's dark head in the first pew. She'd known he was important that first day, but not that he'd become the Crown Prince until she'd seen him at Teyrn Loghain's funeral service, the Queen nestled close to his side, the golden crown on his head. He was in black velvet this time instead of armor, but that glowing blue sword of his was still with him. He heard her footsteps and stood, turning and smiling at her. She dropped him a curtsey.

"You're not supposed to do that, you know, Sister. The Chantry does not bow to temporal authority," he said kindly.

"Oh! You're right, Your Royal Highness! I keep forgetting! Affirmeds do bow to temporal authority."

"Thank you for coming. I hope that I didn't wake you. Your singing was lovely earlier this evening."

"You did wake me," Agnetha admitted, "but I would have had to get up to do the early morning shift in an hour or so in any event. I don't mind. And thank you. I do so enjoy singing. I feel closest to the Lady and the Maker when I sing." She gave the Prince a close look and thought that he looked both tired and troubled. Which was no surprise, given the dreadful state of affairs in the kingdom. It was certainly a tumultuous time.

"Is there something I can help you with, my lord prince?"

"Corin, please. Just Corin. And yes, actually, there are a couple of things. I'd like to have another of those lovely blessings of yours before I ride south. But before then, I have a question and I'm curious to see what you'll say about it. Would you care to sit down?" He gestured to the pew. Agnetha settled herself beside him as he sat. She felt a terrible pressure come upon her. How could she possibly answer the sort of question this very powerful, very worldly young man would ask? She began to wish the Revered Mother had insisted upon coming.

"This isn't the question I brought you here for, but I must ask-do you have family in South Reach?"

"I suppose that I do, but I don't remember them. They gave me to the Chantry when I was four."

"Why did they do that?"

"Oh, the usual reasons country folk do. Too many mouths to feed, not enough food. And I gather that my mother had just had another son. He was wanted more than I was, so into the Chantry I went."

"I'm very sorry."

Daringly, Agnetha gave him a reproachful look. "You shouldn't be. I've had a very good life in the Chantry. It's been peaceful, rewarding work. Perhaps I'll even become a Mother one day, in some small town somewhere. And if someone gives up their little girl or boy to my chantry, it will be as if I had a daughter or son. Perhaps even more than one!"

"That's certainly a good way to think about it." Corin sighed. "There's a darkspawn horde marching through South Reach as we speak, I'm sorry to say. They're going right up the middle of it and they'll probably hit Dragon's Peak as well before they come to Denerim. I don't know how many people will be able to get away, but we should start seeing the refugees tomorrow or the day after."

"Thank you for telling me. I will tell the Revered Mother and we will pray for them."

"Well, make sure you leave Denerim first, and then pray. We'll be evacuating the city, sending people north towards Amaranthine. I hope the weather holds. With no shelter, we'll have folks dropping dead of exposure if it doesn't. I doubt most of the refugees have tents."

"Why are you going to evacuate the city?"

"So we can save as many lives as we can. And hopefully get the horde to stop in one place and hit it with everything we have. Pray for the soldiers we leave in the city, as well, Sister. They'll all die, in all likelihood."

Agnetha sat silent for a moment, pondering his words. At last she said, "These are terrible decisions you are having to make! That must be hard. Is that what you wanted to ask me about? Whether they were right or not? I'm afraid I know nothing about wars and battle."

"No, this is something different. But I need you to swear to secrecy before I tell you about it. You are not a Mother, so I don't know if you can take confessions."

"I am not supposed to. But if you need me to swear to silence so that you can tell me this thing that troubles you so, then I will do it." She rose and went up to the lectern where the Chant of Light was opened and laid her hand upon it. "I, Sister Agnetha, do swear in the name of Andraste and the Maker that what passes between me and Prince Corin in this room will never be revealed to any other living person." She looked back at the Prince. "Will that serve?"

"It will more than serve, Sister. Thank you." She came back and seated herself beside him once more.

"There are only four Grey Wardens left in Ferelden," Corin said without preamble. "Myself among them. The Senior Warden says that for the Blight to end, the Archdemon must be killed by a Warden, and that when the Warden kills the Archdemon, their souls will collide and both souls will be destroyed." He sighed. "I don't mind dying to stop the Blight. I really don't. And neither do the other Wardens. We all understand that it has to be done and that it is a worthy sacrifice. But the idea of my soul being destroyed, of never coming to the Maker-that is extremely troubling to me."

Agnetha stared at him in horror. "No doubt! Where is this Senior Warden, who would say such terrible things to you! He is in need of correction!"

The Prince's mood lifted momentarily, as did the corners of his mouth. "Oh dear! I am sorry, Sister, but I'd rather not tell you that. He is very much needed. I can't have you smiting him."

"I would not _smite_ him; merely explain to him his error." The gentle sister looked very distressed. "If he truly believes this, he must be deeply in despair."

"I don't think he is so much in despair as _resigned_," the Prince said. "But he is a Senior Warden and as such, presumably has some access at least to accounts of earlier Blights. I just assumed that he knew what he was talking about."

"Have you asked him why he believes this?"

"No."

"Then it is difficult to know how good his information is. But ponder this-how is it that a _man _can claim to know the disposition of a _soul_, which is the Maker's province? It is not as if souls have bodies. They don't leave bits of soul-dust all over the battlefield, to be swept up and accounted for."

"'Soul-dust'?" Corin inquired, his lips quirking. Agnetha blushed and dipped her head.

"I am sorry. That does sound silly, doesn't it? I've had to do so much dusting and cleaning in my time that I tend to think spiritually in terms of housework. It is a failing I've tried to work on."

"I don't know about that. It would probably make difficult concepts seem more approachable for a lot of the people you'll work with in future. I wouldn't worry about it, were I you."

"You are very kind, Your…Corin." She looked back up, her blue eyes brimming with sincerity. "Here is what I think about what you've told me. I'm assuming that perhaps killing an Archdemon is a very…violent _physical_ process and that is what makes the Wardens assume that the souls die as well as the bodies. But they are forgetting something."

"And that is?"

"That the Maker made _everything_ and that _everyone_ ever born has a tiny piece of the Maker in them-their soul. Even the Old God that became the Archdemon is one of the Maker's creations. So I have to believe that when a Warden kills an Archdemon they are both simply dead and that their souls go to the Maker. Why would the Maker allow the Warden, someone who had been so stout a defender of His world and works, to perish completely?"

"Because He is indifferent to us?"

"He listened to Andraste, did He not? I know that He will not intercede in the affairs of men, that he awaits the time when the Chant is heard throughout Thedas. But I do not believe Him to be indifferent-or unfair."

The Prince sighed and smiled a little. "I must say, I find your version much more comforting, Sister. I suppose it all comes down to faith in the end, doesn't it?"

Agnetha smiled brightly. "Always. Would you like me to give you that blessing now? I'm sorry, but I've not gotten a lot of practice since last we met. You would appear to be my only customer!"

"That's quite all right. I'm sure the other customers will come one day. In the meantime, I will enjoy having my own personal creator of very good blessings. I'll count it as one of my royal privileges." Corin laid the crown aside on the pew, stood up, drew his sword, then knelt as he had done once before in Denerim chantry.

"I will confess to feeling a bit of pressure here," the young sister admitted with a little laugh. "I could never have imagined that I'd be blessing royalty!"

"Don't worry about it. You'll do fine. You're my lucky charm."

"The Revered Mother seemed to think I should use scripture like a proper Mother."

"If that is what you would like to do, then by all means do so."

"All right. Give me a moment." As before, her hands came down gently over Corin's sword hand and his head. "Ah! I think you will like this one! And it fits, for a Grey Warden. From Benedictions." Agnetha's voice came soft and sure. "_Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written._" There was a long moment of silence. Wondering if the sister was finished or if she was going to add something more of her own, Corin opened his eyes and lifted his head a little. Agnetha was simply standing there, her eyes closed, her head tilted slightly to one side, as if listening. He watched, puzzled and a little concerned.

Then the hand upon his head suddenly slipped down, ghosting across his cheek, pausing momentarily to tip his chin up a little before the fingertips came to rest upon his chest at the base of his throat, even as Anora's hand had done that day, in the exact place where the Ashes pouch lay hidden beneath the black velvet. The hand upon his sword hand tightened and Starfang flared into blue-white brilliance. Agnetha smiled in that unearthly light, but her eyes did not open. The smile was a knowing, motherly smile, not the smile of the innocent young sister. And when she spoke again, there was a difference to her voice. The soft drawl of her country upbringing was gone. This voice spoke with the sharper accents one could hear down on the docks and in the fish market. A shiver ran down Corin's spine and awe pervaded his being.

"'Survival has meaning. Power has meaning. These are the only things that matter,'" the voice said. "How did you answer the woman you love, Corin Cousland?"

"I…I told her that without love, survival and power were meaningless, that life was without joy. And that love was the greatest power of all," Corin managed to say, his eyes wide.

"A good answer and a true one." The voice chuckled then, the sound warm and rich as summer. "Perhaps you should listen to your heart a little more and your head a little less! _Love_ will be your salvation, Corin Cousland, remember that. Perhaps even more than once!" Agnetha fell silent again; then her eyes opened and she smiled.

"Let your sword strike hard and true in the service of the Light," she said in her normal voice, seemingly unaware of any interruption. "May Our Lady give you guidance and support in the hard choices you have to make over the coming days. May you stand unfaltering, sure of Her love, when the darkness is at its worst. I ask this in the name of the Maker and His Bride."

"So may it be," the Prince responded softly. "In the name of the Maker and His Bride." After a moment, Agnetha lifted her hands and stepped back.

"How was that?" she asked with a shy smile.

Corin got to his feet, sheathed Starfang, set the crown back on his head and shook his head in bemused wonder. "You get better every time, Sister."

* * *

><p>Fergus was yawning and looking over his mismatched armor with acute disfavor when he heard the door to the bedroom open and turned to see his younger brother entering.<p>

"I thought you were going to use the royal suite."

"I may very well go and do that eventually. I'm not the most restful bed companion these days," Corin said, gesturing Pooka into the room and shutting the door behind him. The mabari opportunistically hopped up on the bed and curled up in the very center. Corin, seeing what his brother was doing, looked the armor over as well, frowning. "Wow, as Alistair would say. That stuff has certainly seen better days."

"You're telling me. We all became a bit ragged, what with no proper smith available."

"Well, you can't command an army like that! Tell you what-I've got a full set of dragonbone plate going begging. It's out there in the living room. Why don't you take it tomorrow and see if Wade can fit it to you-it's his work. I don't need it since Anora gave me Cailan's plate."

"Thanks. I'll do that. Though I don't know if he can take it in enough."

"Well if he can't, I'm sure the royal armory has got things you and the men can use. But I like the idea of you wearing the dragonbone. It's good stuff-got me through a serious scrape or two. It's a pity I don't have time to get you up to Mikhail Dryden at Soldier's Keep. He'd do you up proud. I like his dragonbone a lot-it's darker and sleeker looking than Wade's. Or get you one of the swords we've got up there. They're pretty nice." He paused for a moment, an arrested look coming over his face. "Wait a moment. Speaking of nice swords…We did a bit of sword switching a little while ago, when Anora gave us Maric's blade. I think I saw something out here…" his voice trailed off and he went back out into the main room. Curious, Fergus followed him. There was a long canvas bag leaned up against one of the chairs. Corin opened the top and rooted about a bit, causing some interesting clanking, eventually pulling a longsword out of the bag.

"Here. What do you think of this?" He drew the blade and presented it to Fergus.

Fergus took the gleaming hilt and gave it a cautious swing. A moaning sigh whispered through the air. "What in the Maker's name!" he exclaimed, almost dropping the blade.

"Sorry. I should have warned you. This is the Keening Blade. We got it off a really bad-ass demon who was holed up in a hovel off a back alley here in Denerim. Gaxkang was a strange bastard, even as demons go. He liked to leave all these clues all over the place and lure adventurers to him and drive them mad. It was a real slug-fest, I can tell you. Brutal. It's no fun to be on the receiving end of this blade. Believe me, I _know_."

Fergus gave his brother a narrow-eyed stare. "'A really strange fellow, even as demons go'? I take it you've encountered a fairly large number then?"

"You know I have, Fergus. You read the letter. The Circle Tower was full of them, and they've popped up in a couple of other places. We ran into a huge one in the Deep Roads."

The older Cousland shook his head in disbelief. "It's just so strange. Dragons and demons and darkspawn and you're so _casual_ about it! And this sword-I've never seen the like and it's one of your _spares_!

Corin shrugged. "Apparently, you rate this kind of loot if you set out to solve everyone's problems and succeed at a few of them. By the way, I've got the Cousland family sword and shield up at Soldier's Keep. My friends all know how to get there if things don't…work out for me."

Fergus gave the Keening Blade another admiring look before sheathing it in the sheath Corin handed to him. "This makes the family sword look like a tinker's trinket."

"Well yes, it does," his younger brother admitted. "But the old blade served me well enough early on. And it _is_ an heirloom of our house." He sighed. "I'm sorry, Fergus, that I've left Highever for you to sort out. But I really couldn't have done anything about it before now."

"It's all right, Corin." Fergus's mouth quirked into a crooked smile. "I do need _something_ to accomplish myself."

Corin gave him an oddly intent look, then walked across the room to another chair, behind which was tucked a shield. Pulling that out, he brought it to his brother, the Highever crest bright and brave and new across it.

"Here. Take this too. I wore this to the Landsmeet. It's a good one-Eamon gave it to me after all the business at Redcliffe."

Fergus slipped the shield onto his left arm, hefted it a bit and smiled. "Wore _this_ into the Landsmeet did you? Spat right in their eyes, eh? Alfie told me what you did there. I _wish_ I could have seen you calling Loghain to account and making the banns dance to your tune! Father and Mother would have been so proud!" He shook his head, disgruntled. "I missed it by a _day_!"

"I wish you'd been there too. You could have spat at them with me. That _was_ a good moment. About the best of this last year." Corin's eyes went very cold of a sudden. "Except for killing Rendon Howe."

"Something else I'm very sorry I missed."

"Do you know what it all boiled down to in the end, Fergus?" his younger brother asked tonelessly. "You want to know why our lives were destroyed? Jealousy. Simple jealousy. Rendon thought Maric had given Father more shinies than he got, that Father had kept him from receiving his full due. 'Maker spit on you, I deserved more,' he told me, as he lay dying, clutching his guts in a pool of blood, just as Father had."

Fergus frowned, taking the shield off and leaning it against his leg. "Alfie told me about Irminric and Oswyn. Sounds like Rendon had become one sick fuck."

Corin's nose wrinkled. "You don't know the half of it. Just be glad you didn't see Howe's dungeon, Fergus-it reeked like a slaughterhouse in high summer. Loghain had lost it too, giving Rendon teyrnirs and arldoms left and right. I know he was supposed to be the great general, but he sucked at being Regent. The whole senior generation just sort of self-destructed."

"Eamon seems to be all right."

"Eamon wasn't any too happy with _me_, I can tell you! He was prone to conflicting impulses for a while. I'd saved his life and the lives of his wife and son through sheer persistence, not to mention Redcliffe itself, but then I had the gall to try to take the throne over Alistair's head."

"I _was_ going to ask about that. Why you didn't put Alistair forward and back him."

"Because Alistair doesn't want it. Eamon spent the early part of his childhood beating him down so that he'd never aspire to kinsman Cailan's place. Kept him in the bloody _stable_, Fergus!"

"No!"

"_Yes_!" The Cousland brothers exchanged disgusted looks before Corin continued. "And then when that bitch Isolde kept complaining-she was sure Alistair was Eamon's bastard-Eamon dumped him on the Chantry. Which pretty much completed the shut-up-and-do-as-you're-told conditioning."

"He seems to have come out of it a bit."

"Yes, over the last year he's had to. But he doesn't want the throne and doesn't think he's ready for it." Corin leaned against the wall, crossed his arms and sighed, closing his eyes for a moment wearily. Then he opened them again and gave Fergus a direct look. "Speaking of that…If the two of you make it through this and I don't, Anora agreed to marry Alistair and rule jointly with him and the Landsmeet confirmed the succession that way. But I notice she seems to like you pretty well and they'd probably be more than happy to put you in Alistair's place, particularly since he'd be only too happy to let you. You could all work things out very amicably, I'm sure." He looked down at his feet for a moment, then back up. "In fact, Fergus, _I'd _be willing to step aside for you, if that's what you wanted."

Fergus threw his hands in the air. "_There!_ _Finally_ we get to why you've been so fucking _weird_ all evening!"

"I haven't been weird!"

"You so have! Vanishing into thin air after the council like that! What makes you think I want the throne?"

"It's not so much a matter of wants as a matter of rights. You're the eldest."

Fergus rolled his eyes. "Yes, well the only thing the _eldest _managed to do this past year is nearly get his head cut off by a bunch of Howe's mercenaries and loll about delirious in a swamp for months! He didn't raise three armies, stop a civil war, sort Denerim out, beat Gaxkang and _how _many dragons up?"

"Two," Corin muttered, eyes downcast.

"What? _Only_ two?" The oldest Cousland brother snorted. "This is all about me and Anora at the council isn't it? News for you, Pup- I'm not taking your woman. Cailan was my best friend. '_Nora_ and I are friends. I do the boorish lord thing around her and she comes on all high and mighty and offended. It's a joke we've carried on for years. I used to play chess with her because Cailan couldn't play chess to save his life. If you'd _ever_ been to court since you were ten, you'd have known this. I hugged her tonight because she's my best friend's widow and my friend as well and that's what you _do_ when a friend has lost her husband and her father in the last year."

"Fergus, I might not be able to give her a baby. Grey Warden thing. You could."

"Maybe. If it was Cailan's fault and not hers. Which it might well be, since he got around and I've never heard of any bastards. But that's beside the point_. I'm_ not the one she was saying was so damned extraordinary and gushing about after the council. Well, gushing for 'Nora. You have to know her pretty damn well to realize she's gushing."

Corin perked up. "She was gushing? About _me_?"

"As I said, as much as 'Nora ever does." Fergus's expression sobered. "Besides, Pup, you're forgetting something. I'm not really _wanting_ to run right out and get married again just yet. I'd like to have some time to mourn Oraina and Oren, if you don't mind."

Fergus found himself enveloped in a black velvet embrace, being squeezed until his ribs creaked. His little brother's voice sounded in his ear. "I'm sorry, Fergus. I was being a prat. It's been a really good and really bad sort of day. Just odd all the way around. But I am _so _glad you're back!"

Trying to give back as good as he was getting in the squeezing department and losing, Fergus gasped, "And I'm glad to be back. Let's not worry about succession stuff until after this is over, shall we? It's a little pointless until we see who's left standing." He clapped Corin on the shoulder. "To bed with you, little brother. If you go now, you might still get a good four hours in before you have to ride out."


	24. Chapter 24

Thanks to Blackholelord, Valin, millelibri, Mike (Yes, Corin still loves Morrigan. But he's also getting more attached to Anora as well.), owl208, none, suilven, spectre4hire, Mike (Chapter 2), Zukafew119 (all caught up!), animevideogamefreak, Cibiripilli (x 2!), JordanMatthias, Mike again for Chapter 23!, Zikarn Krais (hah! surprised you!), Ronin Kenshin, owl208 again (thank you-I'm glad it helped you through a bad day!), and Jade Ookami for all your lovely words. You folks are great!

Fighting next chapter. Lots of riding this one. I probably could have continued it on right until they got to Redcliffe, but it would have been huge and a break point presented itself.

There's an interesting fact that comes to light about the origin of Corin's name this chapter. You may think I had this planned. I really didn't and found out about it in the Wiki after the fact. He was actually originally named after a minor character in the Narnia books. I was trying to think of a name for my new Warden and my mind went there for some reason.

I forgot to give credit where credit is due. The _Ballad of Ayesleigh_ later on in this chapter is from a codex in the game and belongs to Bioware, as do most of these lovely people. _Redcliffe Men_ is my own.

* * *

><p>"So that's what I need for you to do," Corin told Morrigan as the pink light of near-dawn flooded through the windows of her chamber. "Provided you're willing, of course."<p>

"It would seem that a good deal of this plan hinges upon speedy communication and that means _me_," the wilder witch said thoughtfully.

"Pretty much."

"I do not care to let the whole world know of my abilities. I am an apostate, after all."

"Agreed. But Riordan needs to know, just so he doesn't take a swat at you or something."

"I have no problem with Riordan knowing. Wardens are so refreshingly pragmatic about such things. Whatever gets the job done. I really rather approve."

"And I'm assuming you can be sneaky about changing back so as to not startle anyone else."

"Of course." Her tone was cool. "I see that you still have the ring. That is good. It will expedite my finding you."

"Oh. You can still sense it in falcon form?"

"Yes."

"_Please_ be careful, Morrigan."

"Come now, Corin. You know that I am not one to risk myself unnecessarily for others. A small falcon will be of no interest to a large dragon and I have no intention of getting close to it in any event. That is the Warden's job. I will be careful. Now be off with you! If I'm going to be living on raw rabbit and pigeon for the next several days, I'd like a decent breakfast before I go that doesn't involve picking fur or feathers out of my teeth afterwards."

* * *

><p>"You should know, Riordan, that Morrigan will be accompanying us, or more specifically you," Corin said in a low undertone to the Senior Warden after pulling him to one side of the chaos that was the palace courtyard.<p>

"She is the mysterious rider you spoke of?" the Warden asked.

"More or less. She's actually _flying_ with you. In falcon shape. She's a shapechanger."

Riordan looked intrigued. "A very useful skill. She will be far faster than any horse, and be able to travel unimpeded."

"So we hope."

"I have never heard of such a magic. Perhaps we should Conscript her."

Corin snorted. "You can't Join anyone else at present and I wouldn't recommend it in any event. She'd kill you if you tried."

"The Right of Conscription is recognized throughout all of Thedas!" Riordan said, looking affronted.

"Not everywhere. I doubt it is in Seheron, for example. And Morrigan doesn't have much use for laws and Rights and such. She's a law unto herself."

"It seems a pity, but I will take your word on it." He gave the young Prince an appraising look. "You should know that I've sent a report off to Weisshaupt about what has happened to date and your role in it. I am not unaware that you bear the Order no love, but you have served it ably nonetheless and I said that in my report."

"Thank you for that, Riordan, but I hope you also explained that I had a lot of help. Particularly from Alistair."

"He was mentioned very favorably in the report as well. I have also expressed to the First Warden some opinions upon the way we train new Wardens and the time frame in which they should be exposed to all of the traditions of the Order and the information they need about the darkspawn. Your ignorance of essential Grey Warden information was understandable, given your very recent Joining. But Alistair had been a Warden for six months already and still had not been told much of what he needed to know. As was proven by Ostagar, we cannot always assume that there will be time to instruct new Wardens at our leisure. Particularly during a Blight."

"I think that's a good idea. Let them know all of it, the good and the bad, as soon as possible. I suspect Alistair feels the same way. We don't want any other Wardens to be caught out as we were. I don't mean to speak ill of the dead, but I think Duncan was a little cagier than he had to be."

"Perhaps he felt that he had to be very careful, given the Order's recent reintroduction into Ferelden," Riordan suggested, then sighed. "I wish very much that I could ask him!"

"I wish he could have been here as well."

The Senior Warden gave Corin a smile. "Speaking of Warden knowledge, what do you know of the previous Wardens who ended the Blight?"

"Not a whole lot. Mostly about the one who ended the Fourth Blight, Garahel. He was an elven slave before he was a Warden, correct?"

"That's correct. But did you know that the Warden who ended the second Blight was named Corin?"

"No. Really?"

"Yes. I had thought you might have been named for him."

"I think I was named for a relative a bit far back in the family tree. But not so far back as that!"

"Interestingly enough, he had a Warden lover named Neriah. Some say that she was a mage. When they were confronting the Archdemon, Neriah threw herself in front of Corin and took an emissary's bolt that had been meant for him. It cost her her life, but enabled him to reach the Archdemon and slay it."

"That's quite the tragic tale, Riordan," Corin said, smiling wryly. "Is it a suggestion that you think history should repeat itself?"

"Of course not. As I have told you, I have every intention of striking the fatal blow, if that is possible. It is the most efficient use of Warden resources. And it was not my intention to make you think you were ill-omened. Quite the opposite, I assure you. I like to think that our having a Warden with the same name as Corin Zazikel-slayer with us is a hopeful sign that we will succeed."

"From your mouth to the Lady's ears! I doubt history will repeat itself in any event. Morrigan's not a Warden and wouldn't throw herself in front of anything to save me like that." Corin looked skyward to see the falcon making lazy circles in the sky. "Looks like she finished breakfast. Let's go say our good-byes."

* * *

><p>"Now don't you go and start the party without me, Alistair," Corin was saying. Alistair thought that he looked very well this morning, despite having gotten next to no sleep. That Cousland charisma was out in full force and it seemed as if he'd resolved something in his mind. The anger and unrest of the previous evening was gone.<p>

"The same goes for you, brother," Alistair said, unabashedly putting armored arms around his Warden brother and hugging, personal hang-ups about intimacy seeming very unimportant for once.

"If there is any way possible, we'll end this together," Corin promised, hugging back. "I'm sorry to leave you behind."

"And I'm sorry not to be with you, but _not_ so sorry about missing an epic case of butt-burn."

"Horses really aren't that bad, Alistair," Corin chuckled.

"How about you take my share then? Particularly that black, snorting monster over there."

The Crown Prince laughed, shaking his head, then turned to the golem. "Shale! We shall squish things together before this is done."

"As it is a flesh creature of its word, I look forward to that," the golem said. The courtyard was full of milling horses, but none of them wanted to come close to the golem, so there was actually a fair bit of cleared space around the Wardens and their friends.

"Sten, I'm leaving Alistair in charge." Corin produced a rather large sugar cookie from his belt pouch and presented it to the Qunari.

"So long as he continues to exhibit that he has a spine and will use it, that is acceptable, _kadan_. Beyond that I make no promises." Sten gave Alistair a somewhat menacing look. Alistair lifted his chin and stared back. The Qunari looked down at the cookie. "I do not understand this custom you have of presenting sweets whenever you are preparing for an action, _kadan_. It is odd and unnecessary and smacks of bribery." But he also took the cookie.

Wynne was over distributing healing potions to Eamon's knights and dressing them down about the proper way of storing said potions, so Corin turned to Oghren next.

"Look after them for me?"

"You got it, laddie."

"Did you know that there are _ten_ breweries in Denerim? Just in case you needed inspiration."

Oghren chuckled his gravelly chuckle. "Good to know. Stone keep you, laddie."

"And you as well, Oghren."

Fergus was standing close by, with Anora. "Fergus."

"Pup."

"There's something I need you and Anora to see about for me. Well, two things and they're sort of connected. The first is-do you remember Iona? Lady Landra's lady-in-waiting?"

"Of course. You were with her when…"

"I was. Her daughter Amethyne is here in the alienage. When I could get into the alienage, I gave Hahren Valendrian some money to see to her care. She's an orphan and Iona's husband's family had all been caring for her anyway, but I wanted to make sure."

"Do you want me to take custody of her, Corin?" Anora asked. He gave her a grateful smile.

"That might be something we could do eventually. Perhaps Erlina would enjoy training her in the lady trade. But not just yet. Iona told me that she was raising her daughter in the alienage because she didn't want Amethyne to lose her connection with their culture. I think we should respect her wishes if we can. But it's the alienage I'm worried about. I wouldn't put it past some of the guardsmen just to drop the gate and leave them trapped when you're evacuating the city."

"I'll see that they get out," Fergus promised. "And keep an eye out for Amethyne as well."

"We both will," Anora said. She watched as the two brothers embraced.

"I just got you back, Fergus," Corin muttered into his brother's ear. "_Don't_ do anything stupid."

"Ha! Breathtakingly daring and stupid is _your_ department, Pup."

"That's a fine way to talk!"

"Hmmmm. Let's see. Gaxkang. Two high dragons. Not to mention hordes of darkspawn and demons and undead. Made my point yet?"

"All right, all right. You've got me there."

"Come back soon, Pup."

"As quick as I can." There was one final squeezing competition, which Fergus again lost. Anora found her betrothed giving her his undivided attention at last.

"I have something for you," she told him.

"Again? You are so very generous to me," he said grinning. Lifting his arm, he pushed the armor back a bit to show her the yellow ribbon. "I've still got it."

"So I see." Anora handed him a small yellow rosebud. "I'm sorry, it's not much. It was the last one in the glass house."

"Improper, passionate thoughts from you? I'm very flattered." His gauntlets were tucked in his belt. The big hand he curled around the hand that held the rosebud was warm, despite the chill of the morning, as was his breath upon her knuckles as he kissed them and took the small flower. Giving it an appreciative sniff, he opened his belt pouch, took out a handkerchief and wrapped the bud carefully in it before tucking it away. "Thank you. I'll keep it with me."

She tucked her arm into his. "Walk with me a way." He obligingly followed along. When they were out of immediate earshot of everyone, Anora said, "We are not wed yet, Corin. And I know that Morrigan is going with you, and that you love her. If you wish to…be with her, while you're gone, I understand."

Eyes the bright blue of the autumn sky above them studied her. His face was suddenly expressionless. "That is more than generous of you," Corin said at last. "May I ask why?"

"We don't know what will happen. I should like you to be happy."

"In my final days?"

She shrugged. "It's possible. We both know it. And I've always found it best to be…accommodating about these matters. It makes for much less friction."

His lips thinned and eyes narrowed. "It's times like these that make me wish your husband was still here, so I could punch him in the face." He reached out and gathered her into his arms. "I don't think it's going to be an issue. Morrigan was pretty specific about being done with that. But I thank you for the consideration."

Anora suddenly flashed back into her mind to another time arms in the golden dragonbone had held her close in a farewell. "Whatever you do, _don't_ say that this will be glorious," she murmured.

"Cailan?" he asked, and at her nod, he shook his head. "It won't be. I'm going to probably kill some horses getting down to Redcliffe as fast as I can, and then I suspect we'll just have to turn around and slog our way back up here. I'm pretty sure the Archdemon is headed in this direction."

"Why?"

"Population, primarily. More women to make into broodmothers. In fact, remind Fergus of this for me if you will. Anyone who stays in the city to fight should be male."

"Oh. Good point."

Corin grimaced. "I should have thought of it before. A bit off my game, apparently. But enough of that." He tipped her chin up gently and pressed his lips to hers. It was a soft, gentle kiss. Anora could tell that he was waiting, as usual, for her to determine how far she wished to go. She slid the tip of her tongue across his lips. They parted and it slipped in, tangling with his own and suddenly the kiss was no quite so gentle. Corin made a noise in his throat and Anora pressed harder against his mouth in response. The kiss immediately ramped up again, until it was hard and needy and passionate and oh, Maker, how she wanted it, wanted _him_ and was cursing herself for not having had him again last night while she had the chance.

Her hands slipped up to tangle and twine in that blue-black hair. His arms were like iron bands across her back and under her ass. Her toes were dangling off the ground once more-_what __**is**__ it with him about that?_-and again she could dimly hear people laughing and cheering. _And since **when** am I the public display queen of Ferelden? _

The kiss went on and on. The blood in Anora's veins felt like molten honey-all warm and golden and melted. She was dizzied from lack of air. _Grey Warden stamina indeed!_ When Corin finally broke the kiss, all she could do was lay her head upon his armored shoulder for a moment and take a couple of deep breaths.

"Are you all right?" he chuckled. He was supporting her weight quite easily.

"I am just fine, thank you."

"I must thank you in my turn as well. My breeches are going to be too tight for a while. Probably until we're out of the city. Damned uncomfortable when you're on a horse."

Anora giggled. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

She burrowed her nose into his neck and kissed it, breathing in the clean, soapy scent. "Come back," she murmured in his ear. He set her gently back down upon her feet and looked at her with grave eyes.

"If I can."

* * *

><p>"Here. Healing unguent for saddle sores. I made it up yesterday." Wynne gave Corin a couple of large jars when he came over to where Eamon and Teagan and the Redcliffe men were waiting. "And this is something new I got the formula for from Wonders of Thedas recently." Corin eyed the six golden bottles well-wrapped in wool with curiosity. "What are they?"<p>

"A mage from Cumberland came up with the recipe. Stamina draughts. They don't heal, they just give you a boost of energy. I thought perhaps you could use them for the trip." She looked over at Eamon and said low, "They will work on horses as well as humans. And the Arl is not a young man."

"If you say so, Mistress Pot."

Wynne smacked his armored shoulder, then winced. Corin chuckled. "Healer, heal thyself! Have _you_ tried these?"

"A couple of times, to ensure their efficacy." She lifted her chin in the air. "I don't really need them, of course, having other options."

"Of course." He bent down and kissed the soft cheek. "Take care of yourself, Wynne. And everybody else."

She smiled and gave him a long-suffering look. "Isn't that my job?"

* * *

><p>Riders swung into saddles. Everyone had an extra horse on a long lead and there were four extra pack horses carrying primarily waterskins and grain. Leliana and Zevran mounted along with the Redcliffe men. Both of them could ride and both were light and lightly armored, so Corin had brought them along. He mounted Sable. His extra horse was one of Sable's oldest sons, a four-year-old bright bay. Casting a quick look around, he saw that everyone was mounted. Turning in the saddle, he gave a last wave and grin to his friends and family, then gestured forward. "Ride out!"<p>

They filed out the gate in a loose, jostling mass and set out down the road out of the Palace district. There were no banner bearers with them, but the Redcliffe men all wore their shields upon their backs, as did Corin, and his golden armor was certainly distinctive. So along the way they heard the odd, "Maker keep you, Your Royal Highness, Arl Eamon!" and those salutations intensified in the marketplace before the City gate. Then the gate guards were saluting them, they were through and the road to Redcliffe lay before them.

"It's close to three hundred miles to Redcliffe," Corin told Eamon and Teagan. "Usually five, almost six days' ride. I want to be there in four days' time. Three and a bit if we can manage it."

"Even if we can pull that off, if we have to come back here it won't be in three days, marching on foot," Teagan noted.

Corin nodded, looking grim. "Let's hope that the darkspawn stop to do a little sightseeing on the way."

* * *

><p>When the Ride to Redcliffe was immortalized in story and song years afterwards, most people envisaged the Crown Prince and his followers dramatically galloping down the road. It was actually not like that at all. The only people who could gallop from point to point non-stop for three days were dispatch riders who had fresh horses stationed at intervals along the way. And the only time Ferelden had had such a post service was before it <em>was <em>Ferelden, and part of the Tevinter Empire.

The Redcliffe men and Corin and his friends trotted. Trotted and cantered and walked at intervals. They rode well into mid-afternoon before they stopped and ate lunch and rested the horses briefly, switching to their second mounts to continue. Then they rode well into the night. Camp that night was a cold, brief one; no fires, with dinner being journey biscuit and dried meat. After about four hours' rest, they started up again, having switched mounts once more.

Riordan left them at that point, heading south towards the river. An owl ghosted after him. The others trotted on, their shadows long before them as the sun came up behind them. Wynne's saddle-sore unguent had gotten quite the workout in camp, being a salve that both numbed and healed and more than one soldier had called the Maker's blessing down on the old healer. Eamon was holding up better than Corin had expected, though he was obviously weary. He had offered the arl the stamina potions, but Eamon had declined, though he'd taken no offence. "For now," he'd said with a wry grin. "Feel free to offer again later." Teagan's usual good humor was somewhat diminished. Corin himself was feeling the ride. Grey Warden stamina only went so far to make up for using muscles that hadn't been used in over a year to such an extreme extent. Leliana and Zevran didn't even have that to fall back on. The assassin was as quiet as Corin had ever known him, golden eyes half-lidded as he endured.

Leliana's coping took a different form. The second day, as the sun rose into the sky, her pure soprano soared skyward as well.

_The Redcliffe men, the Redcliffe men,_

_Their strength it is the strength of ten._

_Knock them down, they rise again,_

_Foes do fear the Redcliffe men._

A roar of approval greeted the songstress's sally and Eamon's knights chimed in with the next verse. Eamon groaned.

"Do you know how many verses there are to that…that _thing_?" he asked Corin in a low voice.

Teagan actually chuckled. "Are we counting the official verses or the dirty ones as well, brother?"

"I'm going to need a drink if this keeps up and I'm _not _talking about those stamina potions."

Unfortunately for the Arl, it did keep up, all morning and into the afternoon. _The Redcliffe Men_ got a rendering in its entirety; official verses and dirty variants and a couple of new dirty variants that were composed on the spot and added to its canon. Then there was _The Ballad of Calenhad,_ an epic work of distinguished lineage and all of its less distinguished and bawdy versions. Then Zevran, cheered by the singing, amused the company with some very lewd Antivan limericks, which led to others chiming in with the grossest limericks _they_ could think of. Someone eventually pointed out that they had a lady in their midst, which looked as if it were going to quench that particular pastime-until Leliana told some truly filthy Orleisian limericks, her Chantry sister face on the whole time. At which point the men realized that worrying about corrupting _her _was a non-issue and that they ought to be looking to their own souls!

Almost before they realized it, the time for the afternoon break was upon them.

* * *

><p>Leliana kept the song-fest going all afternoon, until the sun went down, at which point she fell silent, saying she needed to rest her voice. The sound of clopping hooves and the occasional quiet conversation was their only accompaniment. Both horses and men were beginning to feel the strain. Sable's son's usual spirited antics were nowhere to be seen-he trotted like the veriest plug, neck low.<p>

They rode until midnight, when they saw a nice clearing off the main road that had obviously been used as a campsite before-there was even a permanent fire pit set up. A small stream chattered pleasantly nearby

"I know we have tea. Let's do a fire," Corin said. A subdued cheer went up. "Feed and see to your horses. We'll rest until dawn. Anyone has a shoe problem, come to me once it's light-I've got tools and nails. Four watches-split yourselves up, Redcliffe men. Teagan and I and my people will distribute ourselves among you. I'll do a mid-watch. Arl Eamon, you're _not_ standing watch. Tomorrow morning we fill every waterskin we have before we leave. If you've got a wineskin with you, empty it and fill it as well. We'll be headed through Lothering and that's Blighted land. You don't want to drink any water there."

Everyone set about setting up camp and seeing to the horses with the quiet, purposeful bustle of well-trained men. Corin's two fractious stallions ended up on either side of Leliana's and Zevran's more temperate geldings. All six horses had their feed bags on and the sound of busily grinding equine teeth was quite loud.

"You doing all right, Zev?" Corin inquired as the three of them brushed. The assassin's movements were mechanical and stilted, not his usual graceful way of going at all. For all of his usual swift celerity, he seemed to be suffering from the ride much more than the bard was. Corin suspected that his claim of equine competence had been a bit over-exaggerated so that he would be included in the party.

Zevran flashed him a weary grin. "Let us just say, my good Warden, that if I must suffer a sore bum, this is not my preferred method for going about it."

"Noted. Here, I'll finish your boys. Go get some supper and some rest. Take the last watch."

"I should protest, but I am not a noble and have no pride nor any scruples about taking advantage. Thank you, my friend." The assassin immediately set his brush down and moved off to where the food was being distributed.

"Thanks, Leli, for what you did today," Corin said when he had gone.

"Oh, you are very welcome! It was nice for me as well. _That _is what a bard should be-someone who can put heart into people when they need it most."

"I've got a song for _you_, though you probably already know it." To Leliana's amazement, Corin began to sing softly. She'd never heard him do so in the entire year they'd been traveling together. He had a nice tenor voice, untrained and unsupported. Definitely not Chantry soloist caliber, but he was on pitch, which was the most important thing.

_the wind that stirs _

_their shallow graves  
>carries their song<br>across the sands _

_heed our words  
>hear our cry<br>the grey are sworn  
>in peace we lie <em>

_heed our words  
>hear our cry<br>our names recalled  
>we cannot die <em>

_when darkness comes  
>and swallows light<br>heed our words  
>and we shall rise <em>

"The Ballad of Ayesleigh. Yes, I have heard it." She dimpled. "But it has much more impact when a Warden sings it! I've never heard you sing before, Corin. You have a nice voice."

He shrugged, and turned from his horse to one of Zevran's. "I never really felt like it. But thank you. Consider it an apology, of sorts."

"An apology? For what?"

"We haven't always seen eye to eye, particularly at first. And I didn't believe you about your vision. I should apologize for that."

"What made you change your mind?"

"Let's just say that I had an…experience recently that leads me to believe you could very well have had a vision from the Maker."

"_Really_? You had a vision from the Maker as well?"

"No. Not the Maker. He doesn't talk to me. But someone else said things to me that led me to believe I'll be all right no matter what happens."

Leliana's eyes were wide. "The Lady! Of course! She is your protectress! She allowed you to find Her ashes! How did it happen?"

"I asked a Chantry sister for a blessing and it happened then. I'd really rather not say more than that, if you don't mind, Leliana. It was sort of private."

Leliana's eyes were glowing. "No, that is all right. I understand. I am glad for you, my friend."

"Thank you. Go on, I'll finish your boys as well. I'm fast at this. Go get some supper and take first watch."

The bard came around her horses and kissed Corin's cheek. "Thank you. You're very sweet." She strolled off, leaving Corin with the horses and his thoughts.

* * *

><p>Zevran drifted up out of the deep sleep of profound exhaustion, realizing that there were hands upon him. Very big, very strong hands, kneading their way over his shoulders and down his back and arms. Through his clothes, but strong enough to overcome that handicap and do some good to his poor, abused muscles in spite of it. They worked his buttocks without hesitation and then his thighs, spreading them slightly as they traveled down the backs to his calves. He groaned and cursed.<p>

"_Damn you,_ Corin! The _one_ time you lay hands on me and I'm too tired to do anything about it!"

A chuckle. "Why do you think I'm doing it now? Consider it payback for all those massages you gave to me." The hands continued for a blissful, interminable time. Zevran felt the pains and knots loosen and despite the potential for arousal in the situation found himself drifting back into slumber instead, only dimly aware that his shoulder was being patted and that he was being wished good night.


	25. Chapter 25

Many thanks to BloodIronAngel, Cibiripilli, Nemrut, mille libri, JadeOokami, Mike3207 (for chapter three), Zukafew119 (thank you for the lovely long review!), spectre4hire, Gemini1179, JordanMathias, none, Marvey4, lazyguy90, Suilven, Mike again for this chapter, Zikarn Krais, Ronin Kenshin, owl208, and karthik9.

You lovely people have really inspired me. Some filler again this chapter and some battle. I tried to keep things brief so I could get to the cliff-hanger. I'm considerate that way...What is it that Anders says? I'm a giver...

Oh and by the way, my big Cousland boy actually pulled the stunt in this chapter off in the game. The only Warden of mine who ever has.

* * *

><p>Lothering was a grey ghost of itself. Corin remembered the little town as a bustling center of commerce for the area. Even filled with refugees it had been an attractive place. Now all the earth was grey or black, the trees dead skeletons. From the vantage point of the highway, their party could look down upon it and see the bodies scattered untended in the streets. Just bones now, of no interest to scavengers, had there even been any. Which there weren't. Not a crow, not a rat, no feral cats slunk through the area. The area had been rich in wildlife once, creatures displaced by the coming Blight. Corin remembered killing wolves and bears for silver there, once upon a time. The abandoned windmill's tattered sails flapped in the breeze and it emitted the odd mournful creak that could be heard even up on the highway.<p>

He cast a surreptitious glance at Leliana, whose face looked stricken. "I have to think Ser Bryant got the Revered Mother and the rest of the chantry staff out, Leli. He seemed a competent and compassionate man."

She nodded. "I hope the Maker and the Lady are looking after him, wherever he is. I did ask at the chantry in Denerim but they'd not gone there. Perhaps Gwaren, or even Highever. Whoever is in charge of Highever, surely they'd not turn refugees away?"

"I would like to think so."

She turned to him suddenly, her expression fierce. "_This _is what my vision was like, Corin! This, _everywhere_! We have to stop it!"

"We _will_ stop it," he assured her, though in his heart he was anything but certain. _There were always __**armies**__ of Wardens to go against the Archdemon before. Armies of them, on griffons._ Despite the seriousness of the thought, he had to smile, remembering suddenly how irritated Wynne had been with him during her campaign to instill in him a proper appreciation for the Grey Wardens with little homilies and stories. She'd been very worried and not a little affronted that he'd taken his Joining so resentfully. Corin's defense against the parables had been to keep on insisting upon hearing about griffons until she'd thrown up her hands in despair. "_You are such a __**boy**__, Corin Cousland!" _she had snapped. He wasn't and hadn't been since Highever, but it had been fun to pretend every once in a while.

Leliana, seeing that smile, smiled back at him in return. "With you on our side, we cannot hope but to prevail," she said. "I am sure of it."

Corin cocked an eyebrow at her. "Pressure, much?" They both laughed, then fell silent once more, listening to the rhythmic ringing of steel-shod hooves on stone.

* * *

><p>By unspoken accord, they did not stop for a break until they were through the blighted area, which was nearly nightfall. Though the horses were becoming increasingly tired, they did not balk either, seeming to know instinctively that there was nothing wholesome there for them. When they finally came around a curve and found greenery ahead instead of black and grey ruin, the mood of the party palpably lightened and the horses lifted their weary heads and sped up a bit.<p>

"Let's move a bit further down the road, get well out of the Blight, then take six hours. We need to be moving again after midnight," Corin said to the Arl and Teagan. Both men nodded. Arl Eamon had asked for one of the stamina draughts shortly after noon. It had brightened him up considerably, but he was flagging now. Corin figured he'd offer another when they set out again.

They made camp in an abandoned farmstead, which still had some decent pasture despite the lateness of the year, hobbling the horses and turning them out to graze for a while. Teagan's second horse was trying to throw a shoe, so Corin played farrier while the soldiers filled water troughs and set to making tea over the farmhouse hearth. His boon companions, having dealt with their mounts, stood by helpfully supervising.

"He's very clever, isn't he?" Leliana remarked. "I must say, I like a man who can do lots of things with his hands."

"Indeed," Zevran agreed. They closed in. Corin, stooped over with a hoof caught between his knees, a mouth full of horseshoe nails and hands full of clincher and nippers, could do nothing as a pair of hands slid up beneath his armor in the back and rubbed his ass.

"Ro you rwo mide?" he growled at them through the nails.

"Not in the least, my dear Warden," Zevran said, eyes twinkling. "Always happy to take advantage of someone who is not in a position to pay me back. A habit which you seem to have picked up as well."

"Besides, Corin," Leliana chimed in. "You must know that this sort of thing is going to happen. It's only to be expected. It is a _fine_ ass. Almost a lucky charm caliber of ass. It _begs_ to be rubbed." Zevran snickered.

"Rady rake you roth."

* * *

><p>It was actually a couple of hours past midnight before they were back on the road again. Later than Corin would have liked, but the horses desperately needed the long break and seemed much refreshed by the opportunity given them to graze. But the knowledge that they were past Lothering and two thirds of the way to their destination invigorated the men and they swung into their saddles without complaint. Arl Eamon was doing better for the longer rest as well, and decided to forego another stamina draught for the immediate future.<p>

Corin himself had gotten maybe three hours of uneasy, dream-ridden sleep in which the Archdemon Urthemiel sat down to tea with him and discussed with him the way the wool had been pulled over Corin's eyes in the most amiable manner possible. The Archdemon wavered in the dream between a dragon who was man-sized and his full size, and the tea-cup he was drinking from shifted appropriately as well. So Corin had alternated between sitting at a table with a man-sized Urthemiel's draconic countenance leering at him over the tea service, and sitting at the dragon's feet drinking from a lady's delicate tea cup while Urthemiel sipped tea from one large enough for Corin to bathe in. It was hardly the sort of dream to inspire confidence because despite Urthemiel's apparent cordiality, an undercurrent of fear ran through the dream- the certainty that the first wrong move or word would cause the Archdemon to eat him.

Upon awakening, he'd immediately tried to sense for darkspawn in the area, thinking that perhaps they had inspired the dream. But there was no sign of them. To get back into the saddle was almost a relief, even with the way his overworked muscles were protesting. He'd used some of Wynne's salve himself finally and it did help. But he really didn't begin to feel entirely himself until dawn began to paint the horizon pink.

* * *

><p>The last stretch of the journey was the most brutal for horse and man, exhausted as they were. Four hours in, Eamon made use of another stamina potion and Corin had to use two more, as well as two healing potions, on a couple of the horses who had gone lame. He pushed the pace, but there was no complaint, for the men were nearing home and were worried for their families. What little talk they had the strength for dealt with whether the darkspawn had attacked Redcliffe in their absence.<p>

At noon they took a brief break, off-saddling, watering and switching mounts one last time, taking another brief, cold meal. For the first part of the day's journey they had had Lake Calenhad's smaller section upon their left hands. Now they were crossing the peninsula between the two halves. Soon after they began riding again, the lake came back into view. A quiet cheer went up from the Redcliffe men, for they knew they were nearly home. The horses had one brief canter left in them, then they were pulled to a shambling halt in the hills above the road down to the town.

"Dismount," the Prince commanded. "We'll leave the horses tethered here for now." He indicated a copse of trees. The men hastened to do his bidding, a couple of them coming over to take his and Eamon's and Teagan's mounts. The three men walked to the head of the road.

"Extraordinary! Three and a half days and not a single horse killed, Your Royal Highness!" Eamon said to the Prince. Corin acknowledged him with a nod, his expression abstracted. When the arl started to speak again, the Prince silenced him with an uplifted hand. There was a long moment of silence, then he spoke.

"Sorry Eamon, but the darkspawn are in the town. I'm feeling the usual sorts; genlocks, hurlocks. Is that an…emissary? Yes, I think it is. And some blight wolves. Damn. Too bad Pook's not with us-chewing on blight wolves is his favorite thing. And an ogre…wait. _Two_ ogres. Wow. We rate." He then lifted the spyglass he'd pulled from his saddlebags and looked down into the town.

"Why didn't you use the glass first?" Teagan asked.

"I like to test how good I'm getting at sensing these things," Corin murmured. "Yup. There's an emissary, down close to the lakeside houses. Maker, I hate those things! And the two ogres. I am so totally awesome, as Zev would say." He lifted the spyglass and looked out over the water. "A lot of boats out there, Eamon. Looks like the village took to the water. A smart idea and it works-unless the Archdemon is here. Which it isn't, because I'd certainly feel _it_ this close." He handed the spyglass to the arl, who took a look, then handed it in his turn to Teagan.

After the bann had had a look, he asked, "So what now?"

"Well, I'm thinking that once we get into the town you should take any archers and Leli and Zev and take that blasted emissary out, Teagan. Quickly as possible-those things are a pain. My lord arl, if you'll take the foot troops and cover them and deal with the darkspawn foot troops, that would be great."

"What will you be doing?" the arl inquired curiously.

"I've got the ogres," Corin said, straight-faced.

* * *

><p>When the men were done dealing with the horses, they all gathered together and the orders were given. Starting down the hill towards the windmill, it was not long until they met resistance-hurlocks and the blight wolves Corin had spoken of. But they were able to make short work of them. Crossing the bridge was a little more difficult-there was a huge hurlock there that stymied them, but only briefly. The Prince took him on while the Redcliffe men dealt with his followers. Then they were on the slope leading down to the town proper. The two ogres were plainly visible, lumbering about Owen's smithy, picking things up and looking at them blankly.<p>

But Corin's attention was focused elsewhere. "See him, Teagan? Down there by the dockside houses? Short guy with the bad hat?"

"I've got him," Teagan answered, lifting his sword and gesturing to the men who were going with him. Zevran, who had been right beside him, suddenly vanished. Teagan looked around, startled.

"Don't worry, he knows how to stay out of the way. And the emissary won't see him coming either," Corin said with a grin. Lifting his own sword, he shouted, "Redcliffe! For the Grey Wardens!" and charged down the hill.

Eamon and the Redcliffe knights followed after. It had been some time since Eamon had seen battle. He had been sparring regularly since his cure and had just recently begun to get back up to what he considered a decent standard. The journey had been hard on him, but so close to home, with Isolde and Connor in possible peril, he found himself inspired, killing hurlocks with great abandon.

"Cut _behind_ the ogres!" Corin called out to the men. "Don't let them come at you from the front!" He himself, however, had no compunction about meeting them head on. Eamon, with a breathing space between foes, heard a sharp whistle and a mocking call.

"_Here_, ugly! Grey Warden here! Come and get me!" One of the ogres turned its horned head in his direction, crouched down and charged. The Prince, instead of doing the sensible thing and running to the side, set his shield and braced for the impact. Eamon cringed in advance.

_Should I have argued this course of action? I just assumed that as a Grey Warden, he knew what he was talking about. How am I going to explain to Anora that I let her betrothed get crushed by an ogre?_

The two collided, and two Eamon's amazement, Corin did not go down. In fact, he only bounced back a couple of feet. Unfazed, he dodged under the ogre's swinging arm and lashed the creature's knee-caps with the edge of his shield. The ogre reared back and roared its frustration, fists punching skyward. In that moment, Corin took two steps back, ran forward those two steps and _leapt_ straight up, Starfang arcing blue fire as he did so. He plunged the sword into the ogre's chest and the huge darkspawn fell backward, roaring in pain. Riding it down, the Prince pulled the sword from its chest and slammed it into the ogre's skull, twisting the blade. The creature gave one last shudder, then fell back dead.

The other ogre, seeing its companion fall, lumbered forward. The Prince, leaping off the first ogre, did not hesitate, running towards it before it could charge and leaping a second time, just like the first. The end result was the same-a dead ogre and an unscathed Grey Warden.

"Maker!" Eamon exclaimed. A chuckle sounded at his side and he turned to see Teagan, grinning and blood-spattered.

"That's true-you've never seen him fight before, have you?" he said.

"No. I was always too busy politicking in Denerim to watch him spar. I knew he was good, and Alistair as well, but _this_!"

"Think of what it would have been like to have all the Wardens killed at Ostagar," Teagan said, shaking his head.

"After that little display, I feel happier knowing we've got the four we have at least!" Looking around, Eamon saw that the battle was over. "Let's get on up to the castle, shall we?" he said. "I'm worried about Isolde and Connor."

Corin, walking up, nodded. "There are no darkspawn left here, but there are some more in that direction." His hand gestured up the hill towards the castle. "Not an army's worth, though. This was a diversion, nothing more. Unless the Archdemon is somewhere else out of my sensing range in this region, we'll probably be heading back to Denerim tomorrow."

* * *

><p>The diversionary force was charging up to the very doors of the castle when they arrived, but it had been considerably winnowed down by the dwarves and the Dalish archers. The Redcliffe knights were holding their own, but the Prince's company was a welcome addition, particularly when yet another Ogre arrived. This one seemed a tougher, cannier sort. It did not succumb to the Prince's battle-proven ogre strategy, managing to swat him out of the air mid-leap. The combat was taking place in the gatehouse, and the force of its blow threw Corin against the stone wall. He slid down to the base, momentarily stunned and fighting it, struggling to get back to his feet, when suddenly a blast of freezing air caught the ogre and froze it in the act of leaning over to grab him. Eamon spun around to see Morrigan standing there, having appeared seemingly out of nowhere, her staff smoking in her hand. When he turned back, Corin had somehow regained his feet and finished the ogre off by the more plebian method of shattering its frozen form with repeated shield bashes.<p>

The rest of the darkspawn fell quickly after that, Teagan having zeroed in upon yet another emissary and taking it down with Leliana's and Zevran's help. Helm off, shaking his head a little to clear it, Corin joined the rest of them before the door of the castle.

"Such excellent timing you have, as always," he said to Morrigan with a smile. The witch looked weary, as well she might. Having traveled such a distance, even with wings, must have been a great effort.

"I should not have had to exert myself had you not been showing off," she said shortly. "Riordan says to tell you the Archdemon is with the northern horde."

"Good to have that confirmed. Thank you, Morrigan. Come, let's get you settled-you look tired." Corin fell in beside her and started up the stairs to the keep.

* * *

><p>Upon entering the castle, Eamon found himself with an armful of an almost hysterical Isolde. Connor too had been greatly frightened by the darkspawn attack. Corin left the arl to his unenviable task and went upstairs with Morrigan, Leliana, Zevran and Teagan.<p>

"Here, my lady, take this room," the bann told the witch, indicating a pleasant chamber. "I will see about getting a bath drawn for you and some food brought. Did you bring anything else to wear? I can see if there is something available to wear as well and have your things laundered."

"No, I did not. That would be appreciated, my lord," Morrigan said with uncharacteristic politeness. "I thank you." She went into the chamber and closed the door behind her.

"Zevran and I will share a room," Leliana told the bann. "We know that you are probably short of space at present."

Corin cocked an eyebrow at his two rogues. "Oh, it is nothing, Corin!" the bard said. "We are friends. And too tired to get up to something in any event. Besides, Morrigan looked as if she did not wish to share."

"'Too tired to get up to something,'" Zevran muttered. "Speak for yourself, songbird!"

"Well if you want to get up to something, it will have to be with someone else, assassin," Leliana purred. "Besides, didn't you just finish telling me that you were saddle sore and not in a good way?"

"Pain makes things interesting sometimes, nightingale…"

Teagan sighed as they left the bickering duo. "Are they always like this?"

"Most of the time," Corin admitted.

"Then your fortitude is even greater than legend paints it! Here, my lord. The best guest chamber is yours, of course," the bann said, as they paused at a door further down the hall. Corin sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"Thank you, Teagan. A bed and a bath sound delicious right now, but I need to get back up the hill and bring the horses down. They deserve better than to be left tied up there in their saddles after what they did."

Teagan gave him what was for Teagan a stern look. "There are men here who did not ride almost all the way across Ferelden in three and a half days and fight three ogres at the end of it, Your Royal Highness. They can go get the horses. I'll have your things sent for and have the bath drawn immediately. And if you don't mind my saying so, I'd take a health potion before you go to sleep. You got your bell rung pretty well in the gatehouse."

Corin nodded. "That's a good idea. Another good idea is for you to get some rest as well, Teagan. You've been really great throughout all of this, and I appreciate it."

"We were well led, my lord," the bann said, and bowing, left him.

* * *

><p>The hot bath was wonderful and did much to soak out the aches and pains of the long ride and battle. Corin took the health potion and afterwards threw on a spare shirt and breeches and took a reasonably peaceful nap, the afternoon sun slanting across his bed while he did so. A growling stomach awoke him, but when he went downstairs, he was in a much better humor for the rest he'd had, more than ready to face Arlessa Isolde and the leaders of his allied armies.<p>

The castle staff, though traumatized by the attack, had recovered swiftly enough. An impressive hot dinner awaited the allies in the main hall, and after the initial polite introductions there was little speech for a while, as the warriors replenished their strength.

Eventually, as the meal was winding down, Corin tapped his knife against his silver goblet to get everyone's attention.

"I cannot tell you how honored I am to have all of you here with me," he said with a smile when silence had fallen and all eyes were upon him. "Keeper Lanaya, Captain Kardol, First Enchanter Irving. Ferelden thanks you and your people for your willingness to come forward in her time of need, and for the effort you made to get down here. Unfortunately, as you may have heard, the Archdemon has given us a bit of a runaround, I suspect by using underground routes, and is marching on Denerim with an army as we speak. If we could get the table cleared, we need to discuss how we might best get north to Denerim as quickly as possible."

Eamon's servants moved to clear the table and Redcliffe knights brought a map forward and unfurled it in the space at the head of the table. Chairs were pushed back, and the commanders gathered around to make their plans.

* * *

><p>The planning session ended about ten o'clock that night. Corin spoke privately afterwards with Lanaya, Kardol and Irving, to ascertain any concerns each of them might have had, then wished his followers a good night and headed upstairs to his room. Opening the door, he stopped, frozen, on the threshold. Morrigan stood before the fire. She'd come to dinner in a dress that must have been one of Isolde's, perhaps a style the arlessa no longer favored; old fashioned, with a fuller skirt than was currently fashionable and flowing sleeves in golden velvet. The color set her eyes and black hair off perfectly, and the bodice was snug enough and low-cut enough that her breasts were displayed to great advantage, which had been distracting for several of Eamon's men and some of the younger male mages during the strategy session. Her hair fell loose and sleek upon her shoulders and for once, she'd not put on every piece of jewelry she owned. Only a gold necklace Corin had given her and the bell earrings she'd bought for herself were in evidence. Limned by the firelight, she looked like a high-born lady, but with all of her old, wild allure and the sight rocketed straight to Corin's groin.<p>

But his voice was calm enough as he casually asked, "I'm sorry, am I confused? I thought this was _my_ room."


	26. Chapter 26

Thanks to ByLanternLight, anon (for Chapter One), Mountain907, mille libri, JordanMathias, none, spectre4hire, Suilven, JadeOokami, lazyguy90, Cibiripilli, owl208, BloodIronAngel, animevideogamefreak, Marvey4, Mike3207, karthik9, Zikam Krais and Ronin Kenshin for your reviews of the last chapter.

I'm really stressing over this one. I figure some of you will be disappointed. Hopefully, not _too_ many of you! Needless to say, some of the dialogue in this chapter is from the game. I'm not profiting from it, honestly. It's rather the opposite-this obsession is keeping me from doing more profitable things!

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry, am I confused? I thought this was <em>my<em> room."

"I decided that it was time we spoke," Morrigan said.

Corin closed the door behind him and leaned back against the wall beside it. "So good of you to make time for me," he said with a small smile. "Why do I feel another shoe-dropping in the offing?"

The wilder witch frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Never mind. What did you wish to speak of?"

Morrigan made a visible effort to collect herself. "I have a plan, you see," she said firmly at last. "I know what happens when the Archdemon dies. I know a Grey Warden must be sacrificed and that sacrifice could be you."

Corin's eyebrow flew up. "So…were you a little mouse hiding in the wainscoting when Riordan told us about that the other night?"

"Hardly!" She snorted. "I do not _do_ mouse form. I have _always_ known about it."

"How? I thought it was a Grey Warden secret."

"Flemeth told me about it. After she rescued you, while you were still recovering. It is actually _why_ she rescued you."

"You've known this all along and you never thought to let _me_ know about it?"

"Would you have believed me if I had told you?"

"Perhaps not," Corin admitted. "Though you've been truthful as a rule, I would probably have questioned the accuracy of your information, and it source." He pushed away from the wall and walked over to the fire, holding his hands out over the flames. Looking over at her, he smiled and said, "You look lovely this evening, by the way. It is very nice to see you dressed up."

"Thank you. I am glad that you think so, but you are changing the subject! I have come to tell you that a Grey Warden need not sacrifice him or herself to kill the Archdemon! Is this of no interest to you?"

Corin straightened up, smile vanishing. He gave her an intent look. "It is of extreme interest to me, both the method and the timing of your little revelation. Do go on. What is involved in saving all of the Wardens' lives, while insuring that the Blight is ended? I'm assuming the Blight _would_ still be ended? Because I certainly wouldn't agree to anything where it wouldn't be."

"It would," the witch assured him. "The means is a…ritual…performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of night."

"Blood magic?"

"Some might call it that. It is an old magic, from before the time of the Circle. But that is just a name. Surely there are greater things in the world to fear than names?"

"You misunderstand me. I am merely trying to ascertain exactly what is involved. Grey Warden here. To be complaining about blood magic would be a bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

Morrigan smiled. "Why you cannot be so pragmatic _all_ of the time is beyond me! What I propose is this: lay with me here, tonight, and from our joining a child will be conceived. The child will bear the taint and when the Archdemon is slain it will be drawn to the child like a beacon." She saw Corin beginning to frown and hastened to explain. "At this early stage, the child can absorb that essence and _not_ perish. The Archdemon is still destroyed, with no Grey Warden dying in the process."

"And you end up with a darkspawn baby?"

"No. The child would be a human baby, born with the soul of an Old God."

"And how exactly do you know this?"

"Flemeth told me. Did you never wonder why she went to so much trouble to aid you and Alistair? This is what my mother intended from the beginning when she sent me with you! It was not about fighting the Blight at all. She gave me the ritual and told me what I must do."

Corin spun away from the fire suddenly and began to pace. "And this was back in the day when you were still doing what mommy wanted. You have always been efficient. You sized up both of your potential partners and decided that Alistair was out of the question. He was the more gullible, the more biddable of the two of us, but you really couldn't stand the idea. So you threw yourself at me, hoping that I would become attached enough to be favorably disposed towards doing the ritual with you. But then you dropped me a couple of months back. Risky. Why? A jilted lover might or might not be inclined to come back to you when you needed him." He stopped and turned to face her, frowning a little.

"Not that I'm a mage or anything, but let me guess. You'd not have taken that risk if it were not necessary. So the ritual required a period of abstinence? Or you didn't want to chance getting pregnant too early? Or-" and here his face darkened further. "You dropped me right after I destroyed Flemeth for you. You no longer needed to worry about carrying out her wishes, so I was an extraneous annoyance. Now you've decided to do the ritual for reasons of your own, and you're having to retrace your steps."

"No! It was not that!"

"Was not what?"

"It was the first thing you spoke of. The ritual required abstinence."

"Otherwise you'd still be happily screwing me? Good to know." He gestured irritably. "Do go on with your ever-so- interesting proposal."

Somewhat rattled by his reaction, Morrigan took a deep breath and continued. "After this is done, you allow me to walk away and you do not follow. Ever. The child is mine to raise as I wish."

There was a decided chill in her former lover's voice when he spoke again. "I trust you will not be offended if I observe that there has been a lack of good parental role-models in your life. This would be my child as well and I'm not sure I'm happy about having you raise it alone. What did your mother intend to do with the child? What do _you_ intend? Did Flemeth want the child to become her most powerful host body ever? Would _you_ possess our child when it is older to gain protection from her?"

Amber eyes caught fire. "_No!_ Did you not see how repelled I was at the idea of being possessed? How it frightened me? Why would you think I would ever do such a thing to a child of mine…ours?"

"For precisely that reason. You were as frightened of the idea of possession as I'd ever seen you, Morrigan. And you are not exactly a fount of human kindness. What was it you told me? 'Survival has meaning. Power has meaning.' I can see you being cold-blooded enough to conceive a child with the intention of using it to protect yourself from Flemeth."

"That had occurred to me," Morrigan admitted. "But _not_ as a host! As an _ally_! I do not know what Mother's intent was. I assumed that the possession process removed the body's original soul. It seemed the most logical outcome. And if that is the case, then possessing the child would have gained her nothing, for it would be the soul she needed. But what if it did not destroy, but merely _suppressed_ the original soul? Then she might very well be able to access that power." Her face paled a little, even in the fire's light. "How aware would the original soul be? Would it be asleep, or caught, caged, impotent, knowing that for the rest of its life its body had been suborned?"

"Did her grimoire not answer that question?"

The witch shook her head and Corin sighed, seeming to relent a bit. "You say yourself that you think even the grimoire I fought Flemeth for does not hold the entirety of her secrets. Knowing that, why do you still want to go on with this? Why are you _still_ doing what your mother wants? Do you even know if you will survive the birth of this child?"

"I…I do not see why I would not."

"All alone, birthing a child with the soul of an Old God? Don't you think you're taking a bit of a risk there?"

"I believe the risk to be worthwhile. The child will represent freedom for an ancient power, a chance to be reborn without the taint. I would think that _you_ of all people would appreciate that motivation."

"Oh, I can. I just can't see _you_ being that altruistic. How many times have you berated me, called me foolish for doing something selfless? To come over all selfless and concerned now is a bit unbelievable."

"Then how is this?" Morrigan's voice grew tart. "That Flemeth desired this child so greatly is reason enough for me to want to bring it into being and then deny it to her."

Corin nodded thoughtfully. "Better, much better. But has it ever occurred to you that she might be willing to leave you alone without the child; but by creating something she wants so badly, you will never be free of her?"

"I had considered that," Morrigan said with a sigh. "But I believe having the child as an ally and possibly attracting Flemeth's attention is a better course of action than simply hoping she will go away and leave me alone without it." She scowled at him. "The night moves swiftly on, Corin. Are we going to do this or not?"

"Morrigan, Morrigan! Anything worth having is worth fighting for. I've not yet heard what I need to hear."

"And what is that? Is it this? You've robbed Alistair Theirin of his throne, would you take his life as well? We both know Alistair. He loves you, and you've made yourself Crown Prince. He would consider it his _duty_ to lay his life down to save yours. He would do so _gladly_." She paused and thoughtfully cocked her head to one side. "Though that would make a great deal of sense. A dead hero Theirin is no threat to King Corin's crown. I must say that my respect for you would increase greatly, were that your plan."

Corin snorted. "Were_ that_ my plan, I wouldn't need your solution now, would I? I'd just need to hang back at the right moment."

"That is true enough," Morrigan admitted. "And he would even _expect_ you to, the idiot." Her brow furrowed for a moment, then her face cleared. "What about this then? If you do this, you will be the first Grey Warden in history to slay an Archdemon and live to enjoy the fruits of your heroism."

"Assuming that it is me who slays it and not Riordan, or Cauthrien, or Alistair. And you know that I'm not particularly motivated by what people think, Morrigan." Corin's expression had gone cool and diffident when she'd slandered Alistair. Morrigan realized she'd overstepped. Or perhaps not…

"You have the means to save them all, or at least their souls. Why are you hesitating?" she asked softly.

"Because the means involves bringing an Old God back, and even in human form, he might very well cause much more suffering and many more deaths."

"_Any_ child ever born might become a mighty magister or a conqueror who would do the same. How many suffered and died in fisher girl Andraste's name? And what of your own soul? I know you put credence in the Chantry's blatherings. Surely you would not wish to be utterly destroyed, not be able to come to your precious Maker."

The shuttered, diffident expression vanished and a soft smile came over Corin's face. "I am not so worried about that as you might think. Someone whose judgment I trust explained to me that the Grey Wardens might not be right about that, that they are engaging in speculation."

"Pah! Fairy stories! Was this one of your Revered Mothers?"

"Not exactly. I wouldn't even begin to know how to describe…" His voice trailed off and he looked at her, his brow arched. When he spoke again, it was to change the subject. "You know, your timing sucks. Betrothed man here."

Morrigan took a few steps away from him, then turned back to him. "My timing is what it has to be. But as for your future queen-do you not think she would rather you were unfaithful for one night and alive, then a faithful corpse? Don't you think she's had enough of corpses this year?"

"She has. But Anora is also a survivor. The two of you have that in common."

"And you have absolutely no interest in surviving to see your child born?"

Corin's brow creased in puzzlement. "I was under the impression that you would be leaving and that I would never see this child you wish to have with me in any event."

"I was not referring to our child, but your child with Anora."

The Crown Prince went very still for a moment. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice deathly quiet.

"The other night, when you were with Anora, I was waiting in the wardrobe in cat form. When the two of you were…finished, I came out and slept you both, then did a fertility spell upon Anora. She conceived a child that night. It was apparently Cailan's problem, not hers, in case you were wondering. She should be able to bear the child; I saw nothing that would prevent that. You have an heir on the way, Corin Cousland. Would you have that heir grow up fatherless?"

"He or she might very well grow up fatherless in any event," Corin pointed out. "Your spell would only protect me from being killed by the Archdemon, not from the usual sorts of peril involved in battle. Fergus is back, he would help Anora raise the baby, providing he survived." His eyes narrowed and his mouth thinned. "That was extremely interfering of you, by the way. Not to mention totally creepy. I can't say that I'm pleased. Why did you do it?"

"It seemed an opportunity to provide an argument you would find irresistible," Morrigan said haughtily. "Had I known you would be so indifferent to it, I might not have bothered."

"And there was no other reason?"

"No. Of course not." Realization came over her face suddenly. "Oh. I _see_! Was I supposed to spout some sort of mawkish sentiment here? Some avowal of affection? Was _that _what you were waiting to hear?"

"No. Of course not." The irony was palpable in Corin's tone. He sighed and rubbed his face in sudden weariness.

"I need to think about this."

"The window for doing the ritual is not infinite, Corin."

"Is it not?" He looked up. "You had no compunction about messing with my life the other night, Morrigan. Why did you not just cast a spell on me to make me do what you want about this as well?"

"The ritual requires the…consent of both parties."

"Ah. How very inconvenient for you." He gestured towards the door.

"Are you refusing me, then?" Her voice was ice.

"No. But as I said, I need a little time to think about this. Go, Morrigan. Give me a quarter hour, then come back. I will give you my answer then."

"Very well. But I hope for your sake that it is the right one." She stalked to the door and went out, closing it behind her with a little more force than was necessary.

* * *

><p>Corin stared into the fire, considering his options. <em>Think, think, thinking as Alistair would say<em>.What Morrigan was offering was tempting, without a doubt. Save his life and the lives of all the other Wardens by sleeping with a woman he desired and loved? There didn't seem to be much of a downside.

Except for the possible hurt to Anora. Despite the fact that her dispensation had been willingly given, he knew that she would in fact be hurt if she found he had taken advantage of it. As he had come to know her, he had discovered there was a great deal of vulnerability under the icy facade. So the question was, should he do it? And if he did it, should he tell her?

Part of the reason he thought she'd agreed to his bargain was that he'd been totally honest with her. So he was inclined to continue as he had begun. _If I do this, I will tell her. She needs to know, in case there are consequences to the deed later and I am not around. The only thing I will ever keep from her is what Morrigan told me about her child. There would be no natural way I would know about it and I suspect that she has gone through many disappointments over the years in that respect, hoping that she was pregnant. I_ _will simply have to cultivate a convincing look of surprise for when she becomes aware herself and tells me._ _If, of course, I'm actually still here to tell!_

However selfish Morrigan's motivation might have been, and however offended he had been by the violation, ultimately he was not sorry she had done what she did. Becoming a Warden had taken away a good chunk of his lifespan and potentially robbed him of children as well. To know that Anora would bear his child felt like a gift, that something had actually been given back to him. The part of him annoyed at Morrigan's presumption was overshadowed by the part that was glad about the child. _Maker! I'm going to be a __**father!**__ And Fergus is going to be an uncle! _The thought was dizzying.

Of course there was also the concern about what his _other_ child would get up to when it was grown. Morrigan did have a point-humans didn't need an Old God to inspire them to wreak havoc upon each other. The Old Gods had been gone for ages and humanity was still being as atrocious as it ever had been. He did not know for certain that the child would mature, evolve into some sort of horrible dragon creature and call forth another Blight or worse. It was equally as likely that it would simply strive to live, untainted, and cause no harm whatsoever of its own volition. Although being a game piece much desired by _Flemeth_ might very well cause trouble down the road...

The biggest fly in his ointment was actually the words Agnetha, or more accurately the Personage speaking through Agnetha, had said. _Perhaps you should listen to your heart a little more and your head a little less! __**Love **__will be your salvation, Corin Cousland, remember that. Perhaps even more than once! _With those words in mind, he had waited the entire interview for some indication that Morrigan was motivated by something other than self-interest, but it had not come. If Morrigan had no love for him, then did that not mean that he should refuse the ritual? And if that were the case, then _whose_ love would be his salvation? Would Alistair indeed sacrifice himself? He couldn't bear to consider that outcome. Or was the reference to salvation referring to _physical_ salvation at all? Perhaps the Personage had simply meant that his love for the Maker would protect his soul.

An odd idea occurred to Corin suddenly, jumping to the foreground of his thoughts from where it had been winkling about on the edges. What if he had been misinterpreting the Personage's words? What if it _weren't_ Morrigan's love or Alistair's love and anyone else's love that would be his salvation. What if it had been _his_ love She had been talking about?

_Prickly, self-interested, irritating, vicious, clever bitch that she is, I do still love Morrigan. I have to wonder what she would have been like raised by a family who actually loved her. If that could even have ever happened. Terrible though some aspects of her life with Flemeth may have been, I have to think it was **still** better than growing up in the Circle. At least in the Wilds, she knew freedom._

_**Listen to your heart more**, the Lady had said...  
><em>

So Corin went back over the encounter with Morrigan mentally once again, this time ignoring the textual meat of the argument in favor of the emotional subtext. _It is **always** subtext with Morrigan, you ought to know that by now! _He remembered a couple of things he'd overlooked before and began to smile.

* * *

><p>He was still standing by the fire when the knock on the door came. "Come," he said, his voice even. There was the sound of well-oiled hinges opening, then closing, then Morrigan's voice, cool, with the slightest edge of irritation to it.<p>

"Are you ready to give me your answer?"

"I have a couple of questions for you first." She sighed impatiently as she moved to his side and stretched her own hands over the flames.

"Well, what are they? I have already told you that we do not have all night."

"Soon after you came in, I told you how lovely you looked and you totally blew me off. If your ultimate intention was to get me into bed, why would you do that? You are supposedly the great seductress. How many times have you spoken to me of the gullibility of men and their inclination to do their thinking with their pricks, and how you've made that work to your advantage? I gave you an opening and you passed it up. Why? You could have taken it, gotten me all hot and bothered, and _then_ told me about the ritual. According to the way your purported view of the world works, that should have done the trick and would have been a lot easier than trying to convince me the way you did."

Corin looked over to find the Wilder witch looking startled. For just one brief moment, before she collected herself once more.

"I do respect you as a friend, Corin," Morrigan said slowly. "Having broken things off myself, it would have seemed...tawdry, I guess, to treat you in that way."

"Bollocks! Why should you _care_ what I think? You're going to be _gone_ soon and you'll never see me again! The only thing you should be caring about is how to get your god-child, by whatever means necessary!" He turned to face her. "Here's the second question. When I suggested that you might have ditched me after Flemeth was dead because you no longer needed me, you jumped to declare that wasn't the case, that you had ended us because you needed that period of celibacy and that was the only reason. Again-why would you be worried about what I think?"

"That...that one is easy enough. You would be more likely to do as I desired if you did not think our relationship was one of expedience only. For all your intellectual prowess, Corin, and I will own that you are a very intelligent man, you are still prone to sentiment. It is a weakness."

Sighing, he said, "All right. Covered yourself there." Reaching out, he took her hands in his. "Very well then. My answer is yes, I will do this with you, but on my terms."

Morrigan scowled and sought to pull away, but he was too strong, holding her firmly but gently. "_Your_ terms! _You_ have no terms!" she spat. "I will not give you access to the child!"

"That is not what I meant," Corin said, shaking his head. "My terms are these-that you acknowledge that we are doing this together not to save my life, but _yours_. I'm all right with dying, Morrigan. I'm not happy with the possibility but I accept it. All of us Wardens do. If I do this, it's because _you_ need me to so that you will be protected from Flemeth. And because I love you and always will, even after you're gone. And most of all because _this_ child, of all the children ever born in the world, should be conceived out of love and not out of expediency or selfishness. And lastly because, even though Alistair and everyone else thinks I'm insane on this issue, I happen to think that you can be _trusted_ with power of that potential magnitude."

He released her hands. Silence fell for a long moment, Morrigan staring at him, wide-eyed. Corin waited for the scornful disavowal, the mockery, but it did not come. Instead, she shook herself and snapped, "_Damn_ _you_ to the furthest reaches of the Fade, Corin Cousland! Very well then! On your terms, for my sake and not yours! And also because I happen to... to _love you_, you cunning, wretched, fucking bastard!"

She spun on her heel and headed for the door, turning to speak over her shoulder before she left. "I have to go get the things for the ritual. We've wasted enough time this night with all of your shilly-shallying about and stupid questions! I expect those clothes to be _gone_ by the time I get back!"

Corin nodded, standing by the fire, beaming, his eyes closed as he let her words sink in like a benison.


	27. Chapter 27

Sorry to be so late with this. There were a couple of reasons-a certain traumatized Dalish Warden was holding me captive, and I was having trouble with this chapter.

Thanks to WoW, Siven80, Cibiripilli, Bluumberry, Jade Ookami, mille libri, R (Thanks so much for your incisive critique! It actually made me feel a lot better about what I did in the chapter!), couslandforever, Zukafew119, Valin, ByLanternLight, Gemini1179, animevideogamefreak, Sqyub, none, karthik9, spectre4hire, JordanMathias, Marvey4, Suilven, Mike3207, Ronin Kenshin, Albericus, owl208 and lazyguy90. Looking at all the names, I realize I don't think I've had this many reviews about a chapter before! I do appreciate anything you say to me, even criticism-it means that the story has engaged you on some level. Even if it's just annoyance...

Warning for the Morrigan haters out there-this chapter is pretty much a flashback Blightfic in one chapter, delineating bits of her relationship with Corin. I hope to get to smut of some sort in the next chapter, but the two of them are being pretty coy.

* * *

><p>The second time Morrigan had seen Corin Cousland, he had resembled a pincushion or a hedgehog more than a man. She had come back from a walk with a sack full of herbs, lichen and fungi, only to find that their small hut was full of bleeding young men, men that she recognized from her earlier encounter with them in the wilds.<p>

"Don't just stand there, girl!" Flemeth had snapped, breaking off arrow shafts and unbuckling armor. "Get this armor off of them!" The older witch was tending to the lighter-haired one, the suspicious Chantry brat. Morrigan was well pleased to take the other, whom she remembered as sensible and reasonably intelligent for a man.

"How did they come to be here, Mother?"

Flemeth cackled. "Why I turned into a giant bird and plucked them from the top of a tower! What do you think?"

"Why did you pluck them from anywhere? They look too much the worse for wear to be of any use for _your_ rituals."

"These are the last two Grey Wardens alive in Ferelden, Morrigan. The King was betrayed. His great general left the field. All of the other Wardens died with the King, who was overwhelmed by the darkspawn. These two were separate from the others, lighting a signal beacon in the Tower of Ishal, a signal which the general ignored. They were the only ones I could reach."

"Why should you care about reaching them in any event?"

The witch paused in her ministrations to the man and glared at Morrigan. "Because we are in the midst of a _Blight_, foolish girl! And only _Wardens_ can end a Blight! And trust me; you don't want the darkspawn getting their claws on you! What they do to _women_ is horrible beyond description. Now no more talk from you! Go get the poultices! I bound their souls into their bodies to keep them alive until I could get them here, but this is going to be tricky even for me!"

* * *

><p>He'd awakened briefly when Morrigan pulled the chest armor off over the stubs of the arrow shafts. Those summer-sky eyes had flown open and he'd groaned in pain, staring at her in blank incomprehension. She'd laid a hand along his cheek, moved by an impulse she didn't understand.<p>

"I know that it hurts. Hold on. We are helping you." Those incredible eyes locked with hers for a moment and he made an infinitesimal nod. Then he lapsed into unconsciousness once more.

* * *

><p>He did not remember the exchange when he woke at last, after a couple of days' worth of the most intensive healing Morrigan had ever seen done. But he remembered her.<p>

"You're the girl from the Wilds," he'd said softly, his lips curling up into a smile that made Morrigan's heart do an odd thump in her chest. He was very beautiful, something she'd had ample cause to appreciate while bathing and caring for him. She noticed that he was courteously keeping his eyes focused upon her face rather than her other attributes, a rare thing in any man. He'd done the same at the ruined treaty chest, she recollected. That, and the cultured voice, told her that this man-no, _boy, _really-was no common footpad the Wardens had conscripted.

"Yes. I am Morrigan, if you remember."

The smile broadened. "_You_ would be difficult to forget. Thank you for helping me."

Morrigan was not certain which was more disconcerting-being thanked or the fact that _he_ was doing it. "You are welcome. But my mother did most of the work. I am no healer."

"You tended me, did you not?"

"I did."

"An unpleasant, thankless task. So thank you." His gaze sharpened suddenly. "How long have I been out?"

"It has been two days since the battle. It did not go well."

He looked around the interior of the hut for a moment, his eyes fearful. "The other Warden? Alistair?"

"The whiny, suspicious one? He woke before you did." The young Warden's relief at the news was plain. Morrigan couldn't see why. She did not feel the other Warden to be an asset at all. "He's outside. He did not take the news of the battle well."

The chin lifted. The mobile mouth firmed. "Then perhaps you'd best tell me what happened as well. Please."

* * *

><p>Her mother had joined her inside the hut as she packed. "Here. Take this," she said, handing Morrigan a parchment. "Keep it safe and hidden."<p>

"'Tis a ritual," the young witch said, looking it over in sudden interest. Flemeth was rarely so forthcoming with her magic. "Why would you give me this now, when I am leaving?"

"Because it is for _this_ that you are going, girl! You will travel with the Wardens. You will aid them to the utmost of your ability. You will keep them, and yourself, alive." Flemeth's rheumy eyes glittered bright gold of a sudden and Morrigan felt a roiling surge of power beneath the ragged, aged surface. "Study the ritual closely as soon as you can-the preparation is extensive and more than what you may be used to. When the time comes that they are readying themselves to fight the Archdemon, no more than two weeks before that happens, mind you, you are to do this ritual and lie with one of them, it doesn't matter which one. The ritual will get you with child."

"_What?"_

"You heard me! Honestly, those ears of yours are _useless_ today! The ritual will get you with child. A child bearing the Taint. See that you are close when the Archdemon is slain. Ordinarily, the Warden who slays the Archdemon always dies. The Archdemon's soul is drawn to the taint in the Warden and the two souls collide, destroying each other. The Warden's soul keeps the Archdemon's soul from transferring into another darkspawn, thus enabling it to be slain in truth."

"So where does the child come in?"

"If you are there, then the Archdemon's soul will be drawn to the child's body instead of the Warden's and be caught there in the new vessel. The Warden will be spared, not that that's pertinent. The child, still unformed and with the protections granted it by the ritual, will be able to absorb the essence. It will develop and be born, a human baby with the soul of an Old God."

"And what do you intend to do with this child?"

"Do you not think that such a power under our command would be an asset? And definitely a slap in the face to the Chantry." Seeing Morrigan's skeptical look, the old witch frowned. "This is a chance that only comes along every so often. In centuries! I _require_ this of you, girl. That's all you need to know. I'd do it myself were I young enough." The frown then turned to a sly smile. "Surely it is not _that_ much of a hardship? I've seen you watching the dark-haired one."

* * *

><p>The stupid Chantry Warden said next to nothing upon their journey to Lothering, obviously sunk in a pall of grief and despair. Corin, as the smart Warden was named, tried to defer to him, since he was the senior of the two of them. After three attempts to elicit some guidance from the other man, he gave it up, smoothly took command and never asked again.<p>

* * *

><p>"So-are we to personally solve every dispute in the village? The darkspawn will be so very pleased." Morrigan was vexed. Corin had seemed so promising, until this latest foray into sentiment.<p>

Alistair frowned. He'd been all about helping the Chantry sister. But Corin merely lifted an eyebrow.

"I know that empathy isn't your strong suit, Morrigan, because of the way you were brought up," he said coolly. "And I did say that you should speak your mind. But you should know that, yes, I do intend to help people if I can along the way, to bring a bit of order back into their lives when it is possible. If you've got a problem with that, you may as well leave now."

Since that was not an option, she temporized a bit. "I simply don't see why you should care about all these strangers and what happens to them."

"I care because that is the way that _I_ was brought up."

* * *

><p>Once Corin got to talking, you were lost. Morrigan made a mental note to never let him try to sway her with argument. The Revered Mother never stood a chance, swayed by his apparent faith and obvious charisma. The key to the Qunari's cage was theirs.<p>

* * *

><p>"She's an Archdemon short of a Blight, Alistair!" Corin had protested when the Chantry Warden spoke up in Leliana's defense. His assessment concurred exactly with Morrigan's. But perhaps because it was the first thing Alistair had bothered to exert himself enough to fight for, Corin let the woman join them.<p>

* * *

><p>It was just as well that he had taken over. The Chantry Warden would have been lost in the intricacies of Orzammar politics. Corin breasted them expertly if not effortlessly, never losing his temper or composure. Whatever he was, it wasn't a peasant. It wasn't until the Deep Roads that Morrigan saw the cracks appear.<p>

* * *

><p>"Maker, I hate it down here," Corin muttered when Morrigan brought him some tea. He was standing watch, staring out into the darkness, which seemed to have a palpable weight of its own. "It's like being buried alive in your own tomb."<p>

"That…nightmare you had last night. That wasn't the darkspawn, was it?" Those tended to be more the quiet moaning and tossing variety.

"No. No, it wasn't. I'm sorry to have disturbed you." Corin had called for his mother and father, seemingly fighting a helpless battle in his sleep. And there had been others as well; a woman and a child, from the sound of it. Obviously he'd been through some profound trauma before joining the Wardens. Eventually Alistair, concerned for once about something other than his own navel-gazing, had awakened him.

"So…who are you, exactly?"

Corin looked at her over the rim of his mug, eyes gleaming, his features shadowy because his back was to the campfire. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards.

"Nobody, now."

* * *

><p>They stood victorious upon the spongy flesh surrounding the dead Broodmother, Oghren cackling about his mighty death blow. Corin looked oddly shaken. He gestured to Leliana and Morrigan to draw closer.<p>

"I owe both of you a profound apology," he said in that courtly way of his. "Had I known of the particular peril you would be in, I would never have brought either of you down here."

"I was not worried, Corin!" Leliana chirped, covered in gore but still disgustingly cheerful. "I knew you would look after us."

"Or hopefully at the very least have killed us rather than let us be carried off," Morrigan added dryly. Her golden eyes met his and held them for a moment. He seemed to find her pragmatism comforting.

"That I would certainly have done."

"Then no apologies are necessary."

* * *

><p>"This is an incredibly powerful artifact! We should not destroy it-we should find a way to use it!" The drunken dwarf was in agreement with Morrigan about the Anvil, not that she cared a fig about that. But Corin would not be swayed.<p>

"Did you miss the part about taking _people_ and putting them into these things, Morrigan? Doing it whether they were willing or not? How would you like to be a golem? Step right up!"

"You would not _dare_!"

"You're right. I wouldn't. But there would be plenty who would." And while Cairidin watched, somehow managing to emanate approval despite his expressionless steel face, Corin took up the smith's hammer and shattered the Anvil of the Void.

* * *

><p>The dwarven plumbing in the royal palace was miraculous, an endless supply of lava-heated water from deep-seated springs. Corin was miraculous as well, flushed and naked and glowing in his bath, the spray of circular arrow scars scattered across his chest a reminder that he simply shouldn't <em>be<em> here.

There was no point any more in trying to convince herself she didn't want him. Morrigan prided herself upon knowing her own mind.

Her clothes dropped to the floor and his eyebrows rose, but he didn't turn a single wet, blue-black hair in surprise. Instead, he grinned rakishly. "I've got condoms in my pack, if you'd care to fetch them."

_That is surprisingly considerate of him, _Morrigan reflected. _Most men leave the woman to worry about such things. _"There is no need," she said aloud. "I have magic to ward against such." Her own eyebrows went up. "Just when did you acquire those?"

"A little while ago-a merchant in the fair outside had some."

"Thought you might get lucky, did you? Decided to come prepared?"

"_Hoped_ to get lucky." His grin broadened. "And to do a bit of coming too."

* * *

><p>He was so young. She felt sure that she would have the upper hand, would be the more experienced partner. It was simply not the case. Unlike the occasional callow Chasind youth she'd had in her bed, Corin knew what to do with a woman. He didn't need direction; he didn't need a navigational chart to find all the most sensitive bits. He read cues Morrigan didn't even realize she was giving him and anything he did that was less than pleasing was only done once. She climaxed so many times before they were done that she was totally limp and boneless when she slid back down into the water for a clean-up. He looked tired and sated too, so she didn't object when he pulled her against his shoulder afterwards. It wouldn't have done for either of them to have slipped down into the water and drowned, after all.<p>

* * *

><p>"I would check your food and drink, were I you," Morrigan snapped.<p>

"That's good advice for anyone," the smarmy little assassin said. She'd have been much more happy with Corin had he killed the wretched little rat out of hand once he'd gotten the information they needed. Only the fact that his blue eyes were coolly watchful as he accepted the elf's oath made the situation palatable at all.

* * *

><p>She hadn't <em>meant<em> to listen in. But it had been a while since she had done owl form. Ghosting back through the trees after a successful hunt, she just happened to come to roost close to where Alistair and Corin had walked away from the camp to have a little talk. Not that it was anything interesting at first; just more of Alistair's incessant whining about Duncan. But then, the Chantry Warden royally put his foot in it.

"Have you ever lost someone?"

Corin's voice was absolutely flat. "You mean besides having my mother, father, sister-in-law, nephew and everyone I'd grown up with brutally murdered all in one night? And my brother too, in all likelihood? No, not to speak of."

"Maker, Corin! I'm sorry! I forgot."

"Yes. I know. Because you have been totally self-absorbed and wallowing about Duncan for weeks now." He jerked his head in the direction of the camp. "Go back, Alistair."

"Corin…"

"_Go. Back. _ I find I've expended my fund of sympathy for the evening."

* * *

><p>Once roused, her curiosity wouldn't let her rest. In the end, she actually went to <em>Alistair<em> to have her questions answered, one day when the dark-haired Warden was out of camp, shopping in a nearby village.

"So. Who is Corin, really? There's a story there, I take it?" She kept her tone as casual as possible.

Alistair gave her a wary look. "Why are you asking me?"

"Because, though it pains me to admit it, you obviously know something that I do not."

"_Wow_. That must have hurt. Let me savor this moment…"

Morrigan began to stroke her staff meaningfully. Alistair just raised an eyebrow.

"I _can_ smite you, you know."

"Are you sure you're faster than I am?" They glared at each other for a moment. Then, because she really wanted to know, although it was ashes and gall on her tongue, she said, "_Please_, Alistair."

He was surprisingly gracious in victory. "Well, you know how Ferelden is organized?"

"I can't say I've had much cause to pay attention before."

"Huh. I guess not, what with living in the Wilds and all. See, there are the banns, with the arls like Eamon above them. There are two teyrns above the arls and the King above the teyrns. One of the teyrns is Teyrn Loghain, of course." His face momentarily darkened. "The other used to be Bryce Cousland, Corin's father. Right before Ostagar, Arl Rendon Howe, who was supposedly Bryce Cousland's friend, betrayed him and attacked Highever, massacring everyone in the keep except for Corin. Duncan was there and made Corin's dying father promise to let Duncan make him a Warden. He helped Corin escape and brought him to Ostagar. You know the rest of that story."

"So Corin is…"

"The last Cousland of Highever. Which would make him the next best thing to a prince, except for the fact that we've heard that his father was attainted for treason after the fact. Rendon Howe is the Teyrn of Highever now."

"How very convenient for Howe."

"Isn't it just? So Corin's _either_ the next best thing to a prince or the hunted son of an attainted traitor with a price on his head two times over. Take your pick."

The ashes and gall were back. "Thank you, Alistair."

"Huh?" He looked absolutely shocked. "Uh, sure. Glad to help."

She departed before the desire to try shape-changing someone into a vole overcame her. For once, the man didn't deserve it.

* * *

><p>"Why do we seek to save these wretched mage-cattle? They have consented to their imprisonment! Let them reap the rewards of their submission!"<p>

The old circle biddy was glaring at her, but Corin's face was calm, even a little thoughtful. "Can you truly say someone consents, Morrigan, if they've never known another possibility? You could have just as easily been one of these mages."

"I would _never_ have been so eager to give up my freedom!"

"You don't know that. What would any of us have been, had we different lives?" His tone went from contemplative to brisk in a heartbeat. "Leliana, I'll need you for any locks we may encounter." The blue gaze then crossed hers. "Morrigan, do you want in or not? I'll take Oghren if you don't feel you can bring yourself to participate." Corin stepped closer, bent his head down and lowered his voice so the circle biddy couldn't hear. "But you'll lose what's probably going to be your only chance to go toe-to-toe with a Circle mage and show her what an apostate can do."

Morrigan sniffed. "You don't need to cozen me, Corin. I'm in."

That damnable smile of his lit his face. "Good. Let's go, people. Senior Enchanter, drop the barrier, please."

* * *

><p>They found the book on the First Enchanter's desk. Morrigan recognized the device on the cover at once. "This is <em>Mother's<em> grimoire! The only one that has ever escaped her." She immediately took the book up. Senior Enchanter Wynne started to protest, then stopped when confronted with the fulminating golden gaze and a staff lowered in her direction.

"It's not stealing to take something of your own back," Corin noted.

* * *

><p>"What took you so long! It's about time you got here!"<p>

Corin's rippling form grinned happily, undeterred by her ire. "Thank the Maker! I should have known _you_ wouldn't be taken in by all of this! It took a bit of doing to break Wynne and Leliana out of _their_ dreams." He came forward, took Morrigan into his arms and kissed her soundly. The dream kiss was every bit as satisfactory as a real one. Morrigan smiled when it was done and sneered at the demon.

"Oh, this thing couldn't out-cruel Mother if it tried." The demon hissed angrily.

Still totally ignoring the demon, Corin put her at arm's length. "Hey! I can turn into a mouse here! How about that!"

"_Only _a mouse?"

"_And _a fire-form and a spirit-form and a stone golem too." Corin waggled his eyebrows. "I'm very versatile."

Morrigan gave him a cool look. "So I've come to know."

The Flemeth-demon growled in warning. "You may not have her! The disobedient girl is _mine_!" It took a swipe at Corin, who caught the blow on his shield, drew his sword and smiled. In the odd, directionless light of the Fade that smile was eerily cheery.

"Oh, I don't _think_ so!"

* * *

><p>Having obtained Irving's promise of support, and having been informed by Wynne that she was joining them whether they liked it or not, they were leaving the Tower when the Knight-Commander spoke. "Warden. That woman with you is an apostate. She will need to remain here."<p>

Morrigan's hand went to her staff, but Corin spun on his heel, his eyes suddenly blue ice. "No, she will not."

"I must insist!"

The young Warden's head lifted and his eyes narrowed. Suddenly, he looked older and much more commanding. Almost regal, despite being covered head to toe with blood and worse. "You will insist upon _nothing_! This apostate is in the service of the Grey Wardens. This is a time of Blight. Her services are essential to the fighting of the Blight and I would claim as much to the face of the Divine herself. Furthermore, this_ apostate_ just finished helping _me_ do _your_ job for you, Knight-Commander! We fought blood mages and abominations and a very big, bad sloth demon and another big, bad pride demon to get your tower back. I think she's more than Harrowed. And I'm _not _impressed with how you care for your mages!" He stalked forward until he was chest-to-chest with the Templar, looking down at the older man. At the look on his face, Gregoir gave back a step. Corin's voice was soft and chill when he spoke again, and even Morrigan had to repress a shiver when she heard it for he spoke with utter confidence and sincerity.

"And if you or any of yours try to impede her leaving with us, _we will kill you_."

* * *

><p>So the stupid Warden was a stupid, royal bastard Warden. Morrigan had to wonder about the late King Maric's taste. Not to mention his level of intelligence. She refused to believe that Alistair was solely his mother's fault.<p>

The news didn't seem to affect Corin much and that relieved Alistair. Only Morrigan caught the occasional thoughtful look Corin sent in his Warden brother's direction.

* * *

><p>The old Circle biddy was good for one thing-she was a damned fine healer. Hip deep in zombies, Morrigan found the division of effort equitable. She burned, shocked and froze things, and Wynne kept the soldiers on their feet. At her side, keeping the animated corpses off her, Corin found the time to flash a smile in her direction between foes. She returned it, then turned to drop a fireball squarely on top of some dead shambling up the path from the docks.<p>

* * *

><p>The Arlessa Isolde was a selfish, stupid bitch. Morrigan thought that it would be only justice were the arlessa sacrificed to save her son, since she was responsible for all the carnage at Redcliffe. She suspected that Corin might privately feel the same way himself. He treated Isolde with the distant, punctilious politeness that the witch had come to realize meant he really disliked someone. But he went for the mages anyway. When Morrigan took him to task for it, he gave her a bleak look.<p>

"I won't deprive a man of his family, Morrigan, have I the means to prevent it. I know what that feels like."

She found herself unable to say anything in reply.

* * *

><p>"So who is going to go into the Fade, Warden?" First Enchanter Irving asked. Morrigan looked at the Circle mages, the best of their kind. Irving had brought only Senior Enchanters, mages with decades of training, for this task. The sensible thing would be to select one of them.<p>

But Corin didn't hesitate. "Morrigan will go." His tone seemed to indicate that her selection should have been self-evident.

Irving started to say something, then subsided. Morrigan looked at the affronted Circle mages and strove to repress a smile. It was possibly one of the proudest moments of her life.

* * *

><p>"That is human blood." Staring at the altar, Morrigan intentionally made her voice as portentious as possible. It had the desired effect.<p>

"Euuuw," Alistair said. "How do you know that?" He had on his best dumb and suspicious Templar expression. Things were going well. Morrigan lifted her chin. "I just do. And I also know that no one can lose that amount of blood and live." She reveled in the accusing look he gave her then, knowing that his dim but inventive little brain was undoubtedly coming up with all sorts of sinister scenarios involving her and her mother.

Afterwards, heading up the hill towards the village store, Corin dropped back with her behind Alistair and Zevran and put his mouth close to her ear.

"Got your daily allotment of Alistair-baiting in, did you?" he inquired with a grin.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she said loftily.

"If Alistair had thought back a bit, he would have remembered Wynne telling us just last week about how _any_ mage, not just blood mages, could tell the difference between human and animal blood. And any of us know how much blood a body can lose and live-we've let enough of it." He looked ahead at the broad back of his Warden brother and sighed.

"Maker, I do love that man, but I sometimes despair of ever teaching him to _think_ first."

* * *

><p>"Begone, spirit! I will not dance to your tune! Save your questions for someone who will answer them!" The Guardian rather unexpectedly nodded. "Very well, then. You may all pass."<p>

Morrigan stalked into the Gauntlet, much pleased. Not only had she not revealed any personal secrets to the others, she'd perhaps gotten a bit back for the pain the Guardian's questioning had obviously caused Corin.

"That's my girl," she heard him whisper as he followed, and she smiled.

* * *

><p>Even as a spirit-form, the man's eyes were the same blue as Corin's, and there were other resemblances between the two of them. As Bryce Cousland's spirit addressed his son, Morrigan had an odd thought. <em>This is as close as I am ever going to come to meeting the family!<em>

* * *

><p>"<em>No! Don't<em> split up! We all stay together! Take Morrigan first!" Corin commanded. They were fighting spirit-forms of themselves, a most unnerving test. Running across the room to where the simulacrum of herself waited, she had to participate in her own seeming slaughter. The others undoubtedly found it equally dismaying when their turns came. Afterwards, no one seemed to want to say much, but she found herself with a question she wanted answered, so she drew Corin aside.

"Why me first?"

He smiled ruefully and reached a gauntleted hand up to touch her cheek. "Because _you're_ the most deadly of us all."

* * *

><p>Watching Corin come to the Ashes was a moving experience. The peace and exaltation he was obviously feeling almost made the trials worthwhile. It was odd. Morrigan certainly had no love for the Chantry. She should have been disgusted by Corin's devotion. But somehow, she was not. She'd had ample proof that his was not a blind faith, and in any event, his faith was just one facet among many of Corin's personality. Morrigan accepted it as she knew Corin accepted her less-than-savory parts. She wasn't entirely sure what that signified, but she was worried that it was something profound. It frightened her.<p>

* * *

><p>She respected the Qunari, always had. And she figured that it was past time to back her relationship with Corin off. Her increasing dependency upon his good opinion was worrisome. So after they left Redcliffe and a healed and hale Arl Eamon behind them, Morrigan began blatantly pursuing Sten. This caused Zevran and Leliana to raise eyebrows, Oghren to cackle and make lascivious speculations, and Alistair and Wynne to glower disapprovingly. Shale and Pooka made no comment and Corin's expression could not be read at all.<p>

Unfortunately, she didn't have the courage to carry it through to the end. When Sten actually evinced interest in return and the talk about heated prybars and something to bite down on and the questions about the strength of her teeth began, she cravenly folded. The Qunari had a suspiciously satisfied look on his face when she had done so.

Corin's opinion upon the whole thing could still not be discerned from his expression. But as they marched towards the Brecilian forest the next day, he moved up beside her and spoke softly out of the corner of his mouth.

"Not that I have any idea _what_ that was about, but it serves you right." But he didn't seem to be particularly angry.

Morrigan threw him a side-long look. "My tent tonight?" Corin gave the request thoughtful consideration for a long moment, then nodded, a small smile playing about his lips.

* * *

><p>Corin did not take Morrigan with him during his first visits to the Dalish, which gave her time to peruse the grimoire she'd gotten in the Circle tower. She did not believe what she read during the first reading, but subsequent ones only confirmed it. The knowledge raised conflicting feelings in her breast. Flemeth's words to the Wardens upon their departure<em>-"And you, Wardens. I give to you that which I most value in the world. Do you understand?"<em>-took on a sinister rather than affectionate significance. Though she had long known that her relationship with Flemeth was hardly the usual one shared by a mother and daughter, the witch was nonetheless the only family she had known and the sense of betrayal ran deep. By the time Corin returned from the Dalish camp, that betrayal had turned to profound and smoldering anger.

"I do not mean to wait about like some empty vessel to be filled at her leisure!" Morrigan snarled at her lover. "I will not allow Flemeth to possess me as she did all those countless others!"

"What do you propose?" Corin asked calmly.

"You must go to her and kill her and bring to me her true grimoire."

"_I_ must go and kill Flemeth?"

"Yes. _I_ cannot do it. Were I to come into her presence, she might possess me then and there. That might even be why she sent me away, so that she could complete the final part of her ritual in peace."

"That's a disturbing thought."

"Indeed. Will you do it?"

"I will, but not immediately. I have to finish this business with the Dalish first. And I'd like to…brush up on a couple of things before I face Flemeth, who is a very formidable mage." Corin reached out, tipped her chin up and kissed her softly on the lips. "But I promise you this, Morrigan. She will not have you."

It was not the immediate resolution of the problem she had hoped for, but Morrigan supposed it would have to do.

* * *

><p>"<em>I<em> would have sided with the werewolves," Morrigan said as they left the depths of the temple. "They would have been a much more deadly army than these Dalish."

"I _did_ side with the werewolves, in a sense of the word," Corin said serenely. "Which is why they _aren't _werewolves anymore."

* * *

><p>The things Corin was brushing up on became apparent upon their coming to the surface. A whole troop of darkspawn were awaiting them, including two genlock emissaries. Their long-arranged strategy went into effect. Morrigan started hurling magic at the farthest genlock, trusting that Alistair would smite or drain the first one. Zevran was dancing about the edges, stealthing in and out, backstabbing where he could<p>

Corin went charging down on the far one, but Morrigan could feel the magic beginning to build. Major entropy magic from the feel of it, most likely one of those life-force drains she so loved herself. Corin wasn't going to make it in time to disrupt the spell by attacking the genlock physically. It was going to drain him dry in a couple of seconds, and no one was close enough to help him.

He seemed to realize that too. Morrigan saw him stop in his tracks of a sudden, switch his sword to his shield hand and _reach. _The blue light of a mana drain lashed out and disrupted the spell. Corin then charged forward and attacked physically.

Morrigan had to give herself a good mental shake to be able to continue to battle, realization was thrumming so loudly through her brain.

_My lover is a __**Templar**__!_

* * *

><p>"So-how long is it going to be before you start wearing those ugly purple skirts?" Morrigan snarled when the battle was over. Corin gave her a look of long-suffering patience.<p>

"Morrigan, I'm not a templar any more than Alistair is. We're both Grey Wardens who just happen to know Templar skills. Which I asked him to teach me to fight the _darkspawn_ mages, not to track down and incarcerate human ones. You know what a pain those emissaries are."

She pondered this for a moment. "And what of your precious Chantry? Do you not fear their ire when they learn you've poached their secrets?"

Corin shrugged. "I could care. This has nothing to do with my faith. This is Grey Warden business. And Grey Wardens fight the Blight through _whatever_ means are necessary. Given our many conversations about expediency over the last few months, I figured you'd _approve_, if anything."

It was absolutely galling, but he was right.

"I suppose you are correct. It was just a bit startling, is all."

Corin slid an arm around her and squeezed. "I'm sorry. I've only just now gotten good enough to risk using it in battle. I was going to tell you before I used it, but that fellow left me no choice. He was going to have me for lunch. "

"So _that_ was what you and Alistair were doing when you had all those little private conferences away from camp."

"Yes, much as I hate to disabuse Zevran of his steamy masturbatory fantasies."

"I heard that, my studly Warden!" Zevran said from where he was looting bodies. "You wound me, depriving me of such luscious visions!"

"Damned Elven ears!" Corin muttered.

"I heard that too!"

By tacit agreement, any further remarks the assassin made were ignored by both of them. "And Alistair defied his Chantry masters and all of his upbringing to teach you this?" Morrigan asked disbelievingly

"He did. He's teaching Sten too."

"Gracious, how very courageous of him."

Corin threw an eyebrow her way, but responded as if her words were at face value. "Yes, it is. Alistair's really come along the last few months."

* * *

><p>"Alistair. Sten. Wynne. You're with me. I'll explain once we're on the road. The rest of you, give us a week. If we're not back by then, assume we're dead and you're free to do as you please," Corin said, then went into his tent to grab his own pack. When he came back out, he looked around at those he was leaving behind and smiled that luring, brilliant smile of his.<p>

"And _if _we don't come back, then know that it was a great honor knowing all of you. I am truly blessed in my friends."

Corin exchanged embraces with them all, then he and his three chosen left the camp, marching southwards towards the Wilds.

This left Morrigan in the company of the flitty bard, the smarmy assassin, the disgustingly drunken dwarf and the thankfully taciturn golem. And the mabari.

Who came to _her_ campfire that night as if he had a right to. And who gave her such a disgustingly piteous look that before long, she found herself with a massive mabari head on her thigh, ruffling his ears as she studied her mother's grimoire once more. Or tried to study. It didn't take her extensive knowledge of wild creatures and animal forms to know that she and Pooka were thinking the exact same thing. _What if he doesn't come back?_

* * *

><p>"Here. Here you are." Corin set the grimoire gently into Morrigan's arms.<p>

The utter relief at his safe return made her tongue uncharacteristically clumsy. "Mother's grimoire! I appreciate the pains you went through to retrieve it for me."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say.

"Don't honey-coat it, Morrigan! I _killed_ your mother, the…woman who saved _my_ life. Let's at least call things what they are. " He turned and stalked off towards his tent. She saw him a little while later, armor off, taking a clean pile of clothes and a towel down towards the small river they were camped by. Waiting a few minutes, she followed after. By then, he was hip-deep in the water, soaping his hair. But that hip-deep water was close to a rocky overhang, where his sword was in reach. He went for it, then saw her and resumed washing.

"I didn't lie about it, Corin. This wasn't about getting the book."

"I know. You've never lied to me. You might not have told me everything you know, but you've never lied to me. Speaking of which, did you just happen to forget to mention that your mother can turn into a high dragon?"

"_What_?"

Those blue eyes bored into hers for a long moment. "I'll take that as a 'no'," he said at last. "Good thing we got some practice in at the temple first." He ducked under the water to rinse his hair, holding his breath and running his hands through it. When he came back up, the soap was gone and it lay in blue-black rivulets over his shoulders. His skin was gleaming in the afternoon sun, the muscles beautifully delineated by the sunlight. Morrigan found herself dropping her clothes before she was even aware of what she was doing. Two steps and she was in a long, flat dive that intersected squarely with his chest. He caught her, but the momentum was enough to send them both into the water with a huge splash. But he recovered quickly. By the time he'd picked them both up, the hand that wasn't holding her up against him was between her legs, probing in just the way she liked, and his kisses were hot on her face and neck.

"I love you, you know," he murmured against her skin. "I wouldn't have done that for just anyone."

This was the moment where she was supposed to tell him she loved him as well. She knew that, and part of her yearned to do it. But her mouth would not work and the moment went by unanswered.

* * *

><p>They were running out of time, taking on a few odd errands from the Chanter's board before returning to Denerim for the Landsmeet. The ritual required at least a month's abstinence. And despite the fact that Flemeth was dead, Morrigan did intend to go on with the ritual. The power such a child could give her could not be denied. She also did not believe that Flemeth was actually gone. Corin might have killed Flemeth's current body, but she suspected her 'mother' had a fall-back plan. Morrigan would <em>need<em> the child's power in the years to come, or so she told herself.

But the true reason behind her decision was the one off-hand remark Flemeth had said upon first giving her the ritual. _"The Warden will be spared, not that that's pertinent."_

It was the _most_ pertinent thing about the whole business as far as Morrigan was concerned.

* * *

><p>She'd selfishly had him one more time before she could bring herself to cut him off. Lying in her tent afterwards, wrapped in his big, strong arms, she let the anvil drop.<p>

"This was the last time, Corin."

He stiffened against her. "What?"

"We need to end this. I told you when it began that this was pleasure for us both, nothing more. But you keep insisting on trying to turn it into something more. I cannot return your affections in that way and I have too much respect for you to want to hurt you any more than is necessary. So this was our last night."

There was a long silence. She waited for the recriminations, the curses, the anger. What she got was unexpected.

"You are right," his voice came soft in the red-lit darkness of her tent. "I _have_ violated the terms of our initial agreement." He went all courtly-formal in that way that he had. "I am sorry if my actions have caused you any distress, Morrigan."

_Distress? Your actions have never caused me anything but pleasure, wonder and joy! _she thought mournfully._ Only __**now**__ is there any distress! _Aloud, she said, "No apologies are necessary, Corin. _I_ apologize because I know this hurts you, but I deem it necessary."

"You are right about that too," he said after a moment. "I'm a Grey Warden, whether I want to be or not. I shouldn't get too attached to anything…or anybody. Thank you for keeping a clearer head than I did, Morrigan." He rolled away from her. She closed her eyes, which were traitorously threatening to leak and listened as he dressed then left the tent, his footsteps receding towards the camp. Once he had gone, she turned into her pillow and let the hot tears trickle down silently into the fabric. She'd gone years without crying, Flemeth having beaten it out of her long since. _A gift for you, Corin, and one that I will __**never **__give to anyone else!_

* * *

><p>"I don't know whether to <em>curse<em> you for ripping his heart out or _thank_ you for getting your claws out of him!" Alistair hissed to her as they marched towards Denerim. Though Corin was not overtly miserable, everyone had noticed the chill reserve that had come over him, and they all knew why, living in each others' pockets as they did. Wynne had tried to lay some well-meaning advice or consolation on Corin the night before, only to be rebuffed by a courteous, "I give you good evening, Senior Enchanter," before she could even get started.

"Hopefully the two conflicting impulses will stun you into _silence_!" Morrigan snapped. No such luck.

"He _loves_ you, you know!"

"I _do_ know, and for that very reason, it had to end."

"Oh." Blessed silence descended for a few moments before it was broken again. "_Oh._ I guess it's thanks then."

"Alistair, go away. Before I zap you into an amphibian." A reflective look came over her face. "Though that might be doing you a _favor_. An amphibian would probably be an _improvement_ in mental capacity."

* * *

><p>Morrigan didn't trust the little Orlesian elf as far as she could throw her, and she could tell from the coolly skeptical expression that Corin didn't either. Why on earth would Rendon Howe imprison the Queen, when he was Loghain's right-hand man? What could he hope to gain from it-unless he intended to overthrow Loghain now that the man had stupidly given him such a huge power base. And what sort of idiot gave one man more land, titles and men then he himself possessed? Morrigan was not impressed with the great general.<p>

But there was really no help for it. Trap or not, they needed to make the attempt to rescue the Queen.

"I'll take you, Morrigan, and Leliana and Alistair," Corin said, accepting the mission. Morrigan thought she saw Eamon blanch a little, but the arl said nothing.

* * *

><p>"There it is! That damned Cousland look that kept me from everything I deserved!" Rendon Howe snarled at the end of a diatribe that was notable for its pure venom, even in Morrigan's book. And she had high standards. Corin had kept his composure throughout. But now that it had come down to swords that composure vanished, replaced with an avid eagerness that was chilling.<p>

"All of you! _Leave him to me!_" he cried to his companions and leapt towards the teyrn. They did as they were bidden, moving to attack the guards and the two mages. Those did not last long, and as one, they turned to watch Corin's battle in fascination.

He was aflame with righteous wrath, panther to Howe's weasel. But he said nothing as he battled, Howe's taunts falling into a bottomless black pit of silence. And eventually he prevailed, battering the arl's defenses down. Starfang plunged into the man's belly and out his back.

"Maker spit on you! I deserved more!" Howe hissed with his dying breath. Still silent, Corin's only response was to spit in the dying man's face.

When Howe had breathed his last, it almost seemed as if a spell had been broken.

"I need a moment," Corin said roughly, spinning on his heel to move into one of the darker corners of the dungeon, his back to them. But Morrigan had seen the tears as he turned.

She actually started to take a step towards him before she remembered. _It is not my place any more. _So it was Alistair who went after him, draping an arm across his shoulders and talking to him comfortingly in a low voice, saying words she and Leliana could not hear.

* * *

><p>They were going to die, Morrigan realized. The people who had fought dragons, demons, darkspawn, opponents of all sorts were overmatched by Loghain's elite soldiers and Ser Cauthrien. Of course, their opponents were fresh and they were anything but, having fought their way into and through Howe's dungeon, but it was still oddly humiliating. The Queen had fled at the first sign of trouble, Corin covering for her. Morrigan had thrown a blizzard up first thing, and it had hampered their opponents. But there were too many soldiers to get them all and there was no one to keep them off of her so that she could cast. Alistair had zeroed in on the combat mage, Leliana was throwing grenades and shooting explosive arrows and Corin was fighting Cauthrien furiously, his back turned to Morrigan.<p>

When the sword clanged against her head and knocked her into oblivion, it was almost a relief.

* * *

><p>When she awakened, it was to an empty hall and to Leliana's distressed blue gaze swimming in and out of focus.<p>

"Oh, you're back! Maker be praised!" she exclaimed, pulling Morrigan up against her shoulder. "Here, have another potion!" The magical drink cleared the witch's headache away, enabling her to think once more.

"What happened? Where did Cauthrien and her people go?"

"As soon as Alistair and Corin went down, the fighting stopped. Cauthrien had her men gather them up. I heard her say they were taking them to Drakon."

"Why didn't she take us?"

"She wasn't interested in us."

"Accessories to the _murder_ of a _teyrn _and she didn't arrest us?"

"That is correct." Leliana gave her a worried look and Morrigan knew that for once, she and the flighty bard were in complete accord.

"This is _not_ good."

* * *

><p>"And what of Alistair?" Eamon asked the queen, when she and Leliana had returned with the bad news.<p>

"Of course we must rescue him as well," Anora said swiftly, but it was apparent her only real concern was for Corin. Which was, as far as Morrigan was concerned, an eminently sensible position to take.

"I have a ring," she volunteered. "It is magically linked to a ring Corin wears. If he has not been stripped, we can find him with it."

Anora's blue eyes regarded her quizzically. "You've got a magical bell on your Warden cat?"

"He is our leader," Morrigan said haughtily, though even she could hear the touch of defensiveness in her voice. "It only makes sense to be able to find him. In the event of capture and such."

Anora did not look entirely convinced.

* * *

><p>They decided it would be best to wait until nightfall, though Morrigan chafed at the delay. She had been focusing on the ring all afternoon. There had been nothing at first, then a bit of woozy confusion. But that had vanished quickly enough. She could not sense any physical pain or impairment-Corin and Alistair had apparently been healed. The confusion was then replaced by a very Corin-like resolve, which was then overlaid by…amusement? It was hardly the impression one would receive from someone in fear of their life or who was being tortured. While reassuring on one level, it was also maddening, because Morrigan did not know what was going on.<p>

"I _think_ they are alive and well," was all she could tell her companions.

Then she felt the ring, coming directly towards them down the street. Worn now, apparently, by a guardsman.

She stepped out into the street and was about to blast the man in a rage of despair and grief, thinking that Corin must have been slain and the ring taken, when a surge of love and relieved recognition came to her through the link and she realized that the guardsman was _him_.

"What was so damned _funny_ all afternoon?" she snarled instead.

Corin chuckled, exchanging greetings with Sten, Leliana and Zevran. "It's a long story. Let's get back to Eamon's and I'll tell you all."

"Thought I was going to piss myself a couple of times there," Alistair, who was also dressed as a guardsman, muttered. "Or maybe just pass out from fright. Let it never be said that you don't have a great, big, _huge_ pair, Corin."

"Fortune favors the bold," their fearless leader said complacently. "And I think perhaps the Lady does too."

* * *

><p>Not one man in ten thousand could have done what Corin did, treating Morrigan as a good friend would have done, rather than a jilted former lover. There was no begging to be taken back, no reminders of what they had once shared. She even felt reasonably comfortable in his presence, though through the ring, she could tell that an undercurrent of pain lay beneath all his interactions with her. But for the most part, she refrained from using the ring. It was not fair to him and there was always the possibility that <em>he<em> might feel _her_ pain through his ring. Non-mages were not usually able to do so, but Corin had surprised her before.

She had never respected him more. She had never _wanted_ him more.

* * *

><p>Morrigan had heard the odd bit of conversation between Corin and Alistair, the latter bemoaning the pressure Eamon was putting upon him to take the throne. Corin had promised to support Alistair to the best of his ability, but that was still not enough for the whining Warden. When it eventually came out that Corin had proposed to Anora, Morrigan realized that he'd found another solution.<p>

It was the coldly calculated, sensible thing to do. Good for him, good for Anora, definitely good for Ferelden. She could only approve, even as she despaired.

_He was never meant to be yours, and you know it. Next best thing to a prince, Alistair called him once and now he will be a prince in truth. You __**must **__play this through to the end and __**walk away**__!_

When alone in her room, she would sometimes take out that gift of his that she loved the most and stare into it, looking for answers. It was odd, really. The wilder witch Morrigan whose reflection she had used to look at in muddy puddles, in lakes, in streams, wavery and indistinct as she was, had always seemed so grounded and sure of herself. This Morrigan, trapped sharp and clear in silvered glass, had no answers for her at all.


	28. Chapter 28

Many thanks to the reviewers of last chapter-owl208 (x3-I would have written you back had you an account-and I fixed that mistake you pointed out), LunaMoth116 (such a lovely, long review!), xseikax (glad to see you found it!), Cibiripilli, R (yet another insightful review!), Zukafew119, Jordan Matthias, none, hyperactiveslacker94, mille libri, Darkly Tranquil, Marvey4, Tsu Doh Nimh, lazyguy90, Suilven, spectre4hire, Mike3207, karthik9, Jade Ookami, Ronin Kenshin, and animevideogame freak. Chapter 27 was a departure for me-I actually thought of publishing it as a stand-alone sidebar to this story. I'm glad it worked for you all.

Many apologies for the delay on this one. I am writing two other DA stories at present. I also write in another fandom, and those folks have been kept hanging since March of last year. So updates might not be quite as quick in future-I am trying to finish a couple of very long running WIPS over in the other fandom. But I am also trying not to get these stories into that state.

Yes, it's more Morrigan. But the last chapter in which she is majorly featured. This one was a bit of a roadblock for me. Hopefully, things will pick up from here!

* * *

><p>Corin had, in fact, removed his clothes when she returned. Morrigan was a bit surprised. He wasn't always so biddable. She suspected that was a large part of his charm as far as she was concerned. Her Warden was standing by the fire again, totally nude yet at his ease, warming his hands. He turned upon her entrance and she could see that anticipation had already caused his body to start readying itself for her.<p>

She was carrying her pack and he came and courteously took it from her. "I confess, I have no idea what is going to go on with this. What do we need to do?"

Morrigan surveyed the room. "Let's move the rug closest to the hearth a little further away from it. I can put the circle around it." When this had been done, she took her chalks out of her pack, then paused, looking down at the expanse of borrowed velvet before putting them back. Corin, seeing this, said, "Would you like some help out of that?" Morrigan nodded.

"How did you get into this, anyway? I don't see you using a lady's maid."

"Leliana. And please, let us not discuss it."

Corin chuckled. "More commentary upon your assets and the beauty of your throat, I take it?"

Morrigan shuddered in reminiscence. "You have no idea. But she seemed very happy at the opportunity to tart me up."

"She did a good job. But then, she had a lot to work with."

The compliment pleased Morrigan much more than it should have. She clucked in disapproval and Corin chuckled as he moved around to her back and began deftly unlacing the dress. Draping it carefully over a chair once she'd taken it off, he turned to watch her remove the rest of the corsetry and undergarments with dispatch. Knowing the look in his eye, she handed the garments to him to put with the dress while she turned back to the matter at hand.

"None of that just yet. Our time will come. Besides, I need to concentrate and I can't do that when you have your hands all over me. You might want to get some things off of the bed to make us more comfortable."

He stripped the bed of the counterpane and the upper sheet and brought them over to the rug. Folded to fit upon the rug, the coverlet would give decent cushioning. The sheet was laid over that. Corin, watching her begin to sketch out the circle with interest, was careful to keep the bedding away from the chalked lines.

"I've never seen you do anything like this before."

"That's because this is ritual magic. More my mother's specialty than mine, though she taught me a few things. A lot of these spells are for seeing or finding things. Some are for influencing people. There seems to be a component of that in this spell." She looked up from her work. "I suspect that it will make us very…enthusiastic about being together."

Corin's brow furrowed. "I can't say that I like that idea. It's not as if we need it."

"No, it's not as if _we_ need it."

"But if you'd done it with, say, Alistair instead?" His eyes narrowed.

"Then it would have been a help, yes. But I didn't do it with Alistair, I'm doing it with you."

"Would you have?"

"No." Morrigan's voice was heavy. "I did consider it, but I simply couldn't bring myself to. If you had refused me, then I would have left and that would have been the end of it."

"You would have _left_ just when I needed your abilities most? You'd have left me to face the Archdemon _alone_? Somehow I find that difficult to believe."

She found it hard to meet his eyes. _You put too much faith in me, Corin. It makes me want to live up to that. And what would become of me then? _"I…I _think_ I would have left. I could not have borne remaining. You and Alistair would have had to take your chances. I will own that Alistair is a decent man, for all that he is a simpleton and he is even not unpleasing to the eye, but…no. This babe is yours or it is no one's."

"What of Riordan?"

"Riordan has been Tainted too long. He is sterile and I do not care for him in that way in any event. You and Alistair were my only two choices and as I have said, I did not want Alistair. If we do manage to survive this, Corin, you need to get your children while you can."

"That may be a little more difficult without your assistance."

"Perhaps not. You did not seem much affected by the Taint at all when I did the fertility spell. You will have some time to accomplish it yet. Anora will be the limiting factor there, and that is because of age rather than any other lack of hers. From what I could tell, Cailan must have been the one at fault."

Corin nodded, then fell silent for a time, his expression thoughtful. She had completed the inner and outer circles and began sketching the glyphs between them.

"What do they say?" he asked, gesturing to the glyphs.

"They are not words as you would understand them. They are symbols…representations of certain ideas, concepts, powers…The glyphs Wynne does in battle are a close cousin to these, but much more abbreviated, of course. They are as close to battle magic as ritual magic comes." She paused in her sketching and turned to him.

"There are ritual spells in Mother's grimoire that could be turned to warlike purpose, I suppose. Spells for calling weather down upon your enemies at a distance. Blizzards in truth, instead of my small ones. Torrential rains, fog, that sort of thing. But I haven't the skill to master them yet and would have to be very threatened to attempt them even if I did. Meddling with weather is always dangerous. Upsetting the natural balance can bring unforeseen consequences. Not to mention that most of them take quite a lot of time to prepare. Odds are good that during a time when you might have need of such a spell, you would not have the uninterrupted opportunity to cast it." She resumed her sketching. "This is actually only the final circle. I have been preparing this working for a while now. Most of the original spell work was done upon myself, to set in place protections for the new babe, so that it might withstand taking the soul into itself."

"Another reason to have broken with me, I assume. You needed privacy to do that." Morrigan nodded.

"Indeed."

"Would the child have a soul now? Will we be destroying another, innocent soul to do this?"

The wilder witch shook her head. "No. It will not be formed enough for that yet. That is the reason the timing of the spell is crucial. If the child were old enough to have a soul and the Taint, then the Archdemon might go either to it or the Warden. And yes, what you describe could indeed happen. This way, it is certain that the Old God will end up in the child."

She finished inscribing the circle, save for a gap that had been left intentionally open, and pointed it out to her lover. "Be sure to step in through this part. Do not disturb the other lines." He nodded and she left the circle herself to get the other things they needed; the goblet of wine and the dagger. She pulled the cork on a cobwebby bottle of what looked to be a superb Orlesian red and filled the goblet while Corin watched.

"Is that from Eamon's private cellar?" he asked with a grin.

"As much as we've done for the man, I figured he owed us," Morrigan said, sniffing. "Besides, you're the Prince. He'd have given you this in any event."

"Perhaps… but you can't covet what you don't know is there."

"Ah, but a cat has access to many places a king does not. You'd be amazed at the doors that are thrown open for Miss Kitty if someone thinks there is a rat behind them."

"I can just imagine," Corin chuckled. "Particularly when you're being Mister Rat as well." Morrigan set the bottle on a side table and gestured to him.

"We are ready. Come into the circle with me and do as I direct. Do not interrupt me once I begin casting. And since I know you'll ask, this ritual is in very ancient Arcanum as far as I can tell."

"That makes sense, I guess. You said it was magic from before the Circles and the Tevinters would have been all about trying to harness the power of an Old God."

"I am not sure that was its original purpose. It might have been created to bind other sorts of spirits."

So you don't think it was ever used for this?"

"Given that there have been four Blights and four dead Wardens accounted for, I doubt it."

"Then how do we know it will work?"

"Mother knows more about magic than anyone still alive. I can't imagine her wasting her time and her most precious resource-me-upon something that wouldn't work. Particularly since I think she was close to the time that she had to change bodies when this opportunity came along."

"Not wanting to daunt you or anything, Morrigan, but if she's still out there, how do you know that this does not play right into her hands? What if carrying this soul of the god weakens you, represses you so that it's easier for her to take you over while you're pregnant? Sort of like those robes we found in the chest with the book?"

Morrigan gave Corin an uneasy look. "That possibility had never occurred to me, I must admit," she said slowly at last.

"You said it yourself. The child is a beacon to the Old God. I'd imagine that it will be a much bigger beacon to anyone with a magical gift once it's inside you. Maybe Flemeth let you go because she knew that once you'd done the ritual she would always be able to find you, whether you came back to her or not."

"'Tis a possibility, " Morrigan admitted. "But Corin, Flemeth has had me in her keeping since I was a babe. She has had more than enough time to set spells upon me that would enable her to find me in any event."

"And _I _hadn't thought of that. Comes of not being a mage, I guess." He gave her one of his direct looks. "So-the gist of things is that although we don't know everything about this, you still think this is your best chance to save yourself?"

"I truly do."

"Then let's be about it."

* * *

><p>They stepped into the circle and Corin held the goblet and the tiny knife she gave him while Morrigan completed the last couple of glyphs and closed the circles. When she finished the inner arc, the entire circle flashed blue-white for a moment. She stood and joined Corin, a satisfied expression on her face.<p>

"It would appear to be working as described. Can you feel the power rising?"

"No. But I saw the light. Now what?"

"Now we finish this." Morrigan took the knife from him, said a few words in the ancient language, pricked her finger with it and dripped a couple of drops of blood in the cup.

"Your turn."

Corin's mouth quirked wryly. "Ah yes. Blood magic. The recurring theme in my life." But he followed her lead willingly enough, shedding a couple of drops of his blood into the wine as she chanted again. Condensation appeared on the cup and it seemed to Corin that a mist rose over the contents, though he thought that might have been a trick of the light. Morrigan raised it above her head in both hands, continuing the chant, and that image of her, ebon hair spilling upon her shoulders, her naked body red-lit in the firelight, the golden necklace he'd given her glinting in the hollow of her throat as she called her power down, was one that seemed to encapsulate her very essence. It was one that Corin knew he would carry to his grave.

Finishing her chant, she lowered the cup, then put it to her lips and took a deep draught. Then she offered it to him.

"Drain the cup, Corin." He did so. There was not enough blood in the wine to be discernable to the taste, but as he swallowed, a tingling energy seemed to pervade his being. "Set those things down and come to me." He stooped to lay the knife and the goblet beside the bed but well within the circle; then rose again to step into her arms. His own rose to encircle her and her golden eyes regarded him gravely. "Just one last part to do, my love."

Morrigan began to chant again. 'Twas said that ancient Arcanum was at the back of many human tongues and the odd word or phrase teased at Corin's brain. It seemed that he _ought _to know what it meant, but that meaning hovered just out of reach.

The glyphs and the inner and outer circles began to glow again, the glow intensifying as Morrigan continued her chant. Corin gasped as a rush of heat pervaded his being. Looking at his lover, he could see her lips part and her pupils widen visibly, although she managed to keep control of herself and continue the spell. As the last phrase left her lips, the circle flared even more brightly and a dome of blue-white light seemed to cover the two of them.

But Corin noticed that only dimly, for fire was roaring in his veins. He bore Morrigan down to the blankets, her nails scratching furrows in his back, her legs open and locking hard around him. She thrust her hips against him, mewling like a cat in heat and there was almost nothing left in him but the impulse to impale, to sink himself into hot, wet slickness and _rut_.

He fought it with every fiber of his being, his body shaking with the effort. For Corin suspected that the ritual might very well drain the two of them, that this would be their last time together. And he did not want his last memories of Morrigan to be this. Nor did he want this child to be conceived in mindless lust. He forced himself to draw away from where he'd been nipping along the side of her jaw, laid his hands upon either side of her face and looked into those almost bestial eyes.

"Not like this!" he managed to grate out. "_Not_. Like. This. _Morrigan!_"

Morrigan's conscious self obviously had to struggle to surface. _Perhaps because she is a mage the spell is affecting her more strongly. _But it did so at last and relaxing her grip upon him, she nodded. Her hands began to stroke his back rather than claw, moving gently. From the feel of things, they were slicked with his blood. He laid apologetic kisses upon the jaw he'd been nipping savagely earlier, then claimed her mouth, tongue thrusting deeply. Her body arched up against him and his hands swept up to her breasts as he'd done so many times before, cupping and caressing and teasing until she began to moan in abject want again. Then they slid back down, stroking over hips and belly and thighs.

They had always been well-matched as far as bed-sport went, Morrigan and he. He did not have to hold back, to coax with her. Kissing his way down her throat, he began to suck the plum-colored nipples alternately until they stiffened and peaked.

"Corin, _please_!" he heard her beg and in answer swiftly kissed his way down over the mound of her belly and her lower mound, then spread her legs and buried his face between them. Morrigan started to shriek and stuffed the top of her own hand into her mouth, muffling the sound. His tongue delved deep, finding her moist and more than ready for him, and it was but the work of moments before he felt her buck up against him, keening as she climaxed. That fire began to steal over him once more as he rose over her, but he managed to keep control enough to slide rather than slam in. Once he was properly sheathed within her things were better, as if the spell's imperative had been answered, at least in part. He was able to move at the pace of his choice and Morrigan's golden eyes looking up at him seemed to clear a bit more.

"Better! she gasped and he nodded in agreement. She raised her head to kiss him and their mouths locked together as they began to rock in a rhythm both pleasing and familiar to them both. _Alistair would have been traumatized for life by this, _the inconsequential thought flitted through his brain.

Was the light around them growing? Corin thought that it might be, but couldn't bring himself to care one way or another. The pleasure and creative energy growing between them, inexorable as an incoming tide, was all that he could think of. Running through his head was a nonsense litany of endearments for the woman beneath him-_my vixen, my love, my wildcat, my very dear-_but the only thing he gasped aloud as they both reached the summit at the same time was, "Love you!"

"Beloved!" he heard her cry, and then the light flared and took them both.

* * *

><p>Morrigan woke to a heavy weight pressing her down into the makeshift mattress. It was not a totally uncomfortable sensation-Corin's body was nice and warm. But she saw no reason to continue to repose upon the floor when there was a perfectly good bed going begging, so she slid her hands up to his ribs and began to tickle.<p>

He jerked awake after a moment and stared blearily at her for a moment, confused. Then his head cleared and the blue eyes sharpened.

"Oh. Morrigan. I beg your pardon." He carefully rolled off of her and to his feet and, gentlemanly as always, offered her a hand up. She accepted it.

"Did it work?" he asked when he'd helped her up. Morrigan laid a hand over her belly and concentrated for a moment, then nodded.

"It did." His own much bigger hand covered hers for a moment, fingertips caressing the soft skin.

"What will you tell the child when it is older and wants to know about its father?" he asked softly.

She met the troubled blue gaze. "If you die, then I will tell the child that you died a hero, which is nothing but the truth. If you live…then I will tell the child that our paths lay in separate directions, that you are a mighty king and wanted me to stay, but that it was my choice to go. Your child will not hate you, Corin. I promise you that."

"And I thank you for that." He looked down at the rumpled sheet and coverlet and the chalked marks upon the floor, which looked almost scorched, if chalk could be said to be so. "I suppose we ought to clean all this up. Are these safe to touch now?"

"They are, but let me do that. Why don't you put the bed back together?"

The two of them set about their separate tasks, Morrigan wiping away the chalk marks with one of Corin's dampened towels from the wash stand until all traces of them were gone and moving the rug back into place. When she was done, she turned to find him standing beside the restored and neatened bed, a health potion in his hand.

"Your poor jaw," he said, looking a bit ashamed as he stroked a gentle finger along it. The excitement of the ritual gone, Morrigan could now feel the bruises and abrasions from his teeth that covered it. She stepped away to peer around at his back.

"I think I gave you every bit as good as I got." They shared the potion between them, more than enough to heal such minor injuries, then went to the washstand and spent some time cleaning each other up. He held the sheets open for her when that was done and they slid into bed together. Then those strong arms gathered her close. Despite her oft-stated aversion to touching, she did not protest when Corin began to trace a finger gently over her face.

"What are you doing?"

"Memorizing," he said simply. She found herself running fingers through his hair in her turn.

"I don't think there's enough left of me for another go-round, much as I would have liked to without the influence of the ritual," he mourned.

"I find myself similarly afflicted," she agreed. "But this is nice." And it was true. To simply _be _with him, at rest, quiet and peaceful, was something Morrigan had not realized until this moment was a thing she would miss as much or more than the sex or their long talks.

"It is."

"Corin. I don't think I could bear an endless succession of good-byes." She blinked a couple of times, annoyed at the way her eyes seemed determined to tear up at the mere idea.

"I understand," his voice came soft and low. "So let's settle things now. Do you actually need to go with me to the Archdemon?"

"Yes."

"Then you'll be there. Are you leaving in the morning?"

"Yes. I shall be gone when you wake. I'll fly to Denerim and tell them you're coming. I might fly back to the army in route if Fergus and the Queen have messages for you."

Corin nodded. "Very well. If it must be said now then I will say it. I love you, Morrigan. I always will. And I won't ever forget you." His voice was as firm and certain as when he'd taken his oaths in the Landsmeet.

"And I love you, Corin Maric Cousland." She hesitated for a moment before she asked, and hated herself for doing so, but she did. "What of Anora?"

Corin's eyebrow arched. "What of her? I shall try my best to love her. I don't think it will be that hard." He smiled a little. "The Maker doesn't give us a quota of people we can love and forbid us to exceed it, Morrigan. And I'm pretty sure the Lady thinks the more we love, the merrier. Life would certainly be more pleasant for Anora and me if we can bring ourselves to care for each other."

"I did not think her the sort of woman to indulge in that kind of sentiment."

"Well she is, underneath it all. Even as you are, underneath it all."

Morrigan snorted. "Hardly."

"Oh, you are. Or I would have not agreed to this."

He had that very-pleased-with-himself smile on his face that Morrigan should have despised, but didn't.

"I cannot help whatever mawkish delusions you choose to comfort yourself with, Corin," she sniffed. He laughed out loud by way of answer, then covered her mouth softly with his own.

"I suspect you indulge in a few delusions of your own, Morrigan," he whispered in her ear when the kiss was done.

She harrumphed, refusing to dignify the statement with a response, though she knew him to be right. They lay silently after that, eyes intent upon each other's faces. Sleep eventually claimed Corin by slow degrees, though he fought it all the way, obviously wanting to draw his time with her out as long as possible. Though she was very weary herself, Morrigan simply watched him for a while. He'd gone to sleep smiling, but after a time his brow furrowed and the corners of his mouth drew down. She knew the darkspawn had him once again, even before he began to twitch and mutter.

A specialty of hers, one she had used time and time again in battle, was the spell that called the victim's innermost fears to the forefront of the brain, afflicting the person with waking nightmares and rendering them incapable in combat. What her companions did not know was that she also knew the _converse _of that spell, though she'd never thought to use it. Magic was as much a product of belief as will. Since Morrigan tended to be contemptuous of the softer, nurturing emotions, she found healing spells and anything else beneficent in nature to be much more difficult than destructive magic.

But now she found herself wanting to give Corin one last gift before they parted, in return for the trust he'd placed in her. The question was how to go about it. Her magic was returning slowly after the incredible drain of the ritual, but there was enough to do such a minor spell. The difficulty was in putting herself in the frame of mind to do the spell successfully.

Suddenly, a memory popped into her head, of a time years ago when child-Morrigan had forayed forth from the Wilds to visit the world of men. Cat-form was one of the earliest ones she'd succeeded at mastering, and so it was as a scrawny, black, golden-eyed adolescent cat that she'd roamed the village closest to Flemeth's hut one spring evening. This was soon after the mirror incident and Morrigan knew better than to leave the Wilds again in human form. Her mother would more than likely excuse her curiosity if she were practicing her animal forms.

She had prowled about the village for a time, unnoticed, watching the folk hurrying home on the street, listening to the snatches of conversation that to her were, for the most part, incomprehensible gibberish, knowing as little of the world of men as she did. Leaping upon a garden fence, she'd spied a mother soothing her fretful child with a lullaby through an open window.

_Let slumber sweetly, softly take you,_

_Sleep in peace until dawn wakes you._

_May your dreams all joyful be,_

_When daybreak comes, sweet memory._

The woman's voice had been sweet and clear and the words had roused an odd feeling of wistful disquiet within Morrigan. Certainly Flemeth had never sung to her in such wise! She had forced down the feeling at the time, telling herself that to make such unrealistic promises to a child was cruel. But for a while afterwards, she'd found the words popping into her head from time to time, an uncomfortable reminder of something that she'd lost or never, ever had.

And now they were back again, sharp and clear. So she spoke them softly, laying her hand upon Corin's ebon head and when she did the spell the magic for once came gently, easily as a warm breeze. The almost-frown went away and he stilled beneath her hand.

Rising, she went to gather her things and throw her shift on, lest she come upon someone in the hall. On the way out, she looked back once more. Corin's expression had changed once more. It was happy now, even joyous. She drank the sight in for a moment, impressing it upon her memory, then slid out the door.

* * *

><p><em>The sun was going down on his left hand as Corin cantered towards the beach, Flambeau's long, golden mane flowing over his hands. He didn't know why he was late, only that he was. Relief flowed over him as he saw the bonfire burning on the beach, the wagons that had brought the wood and supplies for the picnic, servants moving about and his family gathered about the bonfire.<em>

_He rode right up to the bonfire before dismounting. Damon scurried up to take the stallion._

"_About time you got here, Pup," his father chided. "We were about to start eating without you."_

"_In the hope that someone besides you might actually __**get**__ some food to eat!" Fergus said, smirking. His wife gave him a chiding look. _

"_You have not got much to say about that, Fergus Cousland," Oriana said reprovingly. "I remember when I first met you in Antiva, when you were Corin's age. I was appalled at the amount of food you packed away!"_

_Fergus kissed her cheek. "I remember being distracted from the food on at least a __**couple**__ of occasions," he said, chuckling when Oriana blushed._

"_You brought the __**new**__ horse, Unca Corin!" Oren cried enthusiastically. "Will you take me for a ride?"_

"_After dinner," Corin promised. His mother gave him a concerned look. "Corin, that's a warhorse, and you're riding him bareback. Is it safe?"_

"_Safe enough. Flambeau's sweet-tempered and besides, Gervais had us working all afternoon. He's too tuckered to put up a fuss."_

_He dropped onto the blanket beside his mother and eagerly took the plate that was handed to him-clams and crabs and lobsters, all steamed in seaweed in a pit on the beach. There were fruit and salad and fresh bread with butter, and ale and cider and wine to drink. All the bounty that was Highever was before him and he dug in eagerly. _

_The talk over dinner was nothing momentous, merely the comfortable chatter and teasing of a family who all loved each other. In a tiny corner at the back of his mind, Corin was well aware that this a dream, that most of these people were dead. He resolutely closed that corner off and simply enjoyed being with them once more. In the course of the night, he hugged his father, kissed his mother, teased his sister-in-law, insulted Fergus and reveled in it all. When the meal was over, he got Flambeau and lifted Oren up before him. The full moon was starting to climb in the sky, the stars were wheeling above them and Oren's laughter rang in his ears as he cantered Flambeau along the shore, his nephew's warm body held securely before him, the water splashing up from beneath the stallion's hooves to soak their bare legs and feet…_

* * *

><p>Corin woke to bright light and birdsong. The dream was still clear in his mind and he smiled in reminiscence for a moment. Then he noticed the angle of the sun in the window and frowned. It looked to be later than he'd asked to be awakened by a couple of hours. Sliding out of bed, he pulled some breeches on and rang the bell. A manservant immediately opened the door.<p>

"Yes, Your Royal Highness?"

"What hour is it?"

"Three hours past dawn, my lord!"

"I gave orders to be awakened _at _dawn."

The man, an elderly fellow with a very dignified presence, nodded, unperturbed. "I know, my lord. But Master Arainai looked in on you at that time and you wouldn't wake up. So he said that we should let you sleep, you were obviously very tired." He smiled. "There was a delay with some of the wagons you requested, my lord, and there have been some other equipage issues as well. The Arl says to tell you that we would not have left before the fourth hour in any event, so you have not actually been delayed at all. I have hot wash water waiting and your laundry is here outside. If you will permit me?"

Corin let the man into the room and went through his morning ablutions, seemingly oblivious to the servants bringing in the hot water, the clean clothes, his armor all freshly polished. He moved to the window, looking out and up into the sky as he fastened the yellow silk ribbon back about his wrist.


	29. Chapter 29

Thanks to MrPowell, marvey4, LunaMoth116, JordanMathias, animevideogame freak, mille libri, Ygraine33 (x4! Thanks so much!), owl208, lazyguy90, xseikax, none and karthik9 for your lovely words about last chapter. I'm glad everyone seemed to enjoy the Morrigan interlude in the Cousland/Anora fic.

And I promise, I'm not going to drag this out. But Alistair was lonely while all that was going on. Fortunately, he found someone to talk to.

* * *

><p>Alistair watched the riders disappear down the street and tried not to feel as if he were an unwanted puppy. Depending upon the nature of the task, Corin used various members of his company at various times, but Alistair was almost always the constant. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been the one left behind.<p>

Pooka shoved his broad head beneath Alistair's hand and whined. Half-consciously, that hand moved to rub the Mabari's ears consolingly. Anora's expression seemed composed enough, but Alistair thought there might actually be some worry in the Queen's chill blue eyes. What had happened to the last man she'd said good-bye to in this city had to have been weighing heavily upon her mind.

Her gaze crossed his as she turned to go into the palace, and she inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement. He bowed in return and watched her go, wondering if he had some time to get some sparring in with Oghren and Sten before the meeting convened. A voice sounded behind him.

"Alistair. I was wondering-would you walk with me to Wade's Emporium? Corin gave me that set of dragonbone of his and I need to have it taken in, if possible. We've got a couple of hours before the meeting with the banns. I figured I'd try to get a fitting in so Wade could get to work on it."

He turned to see Fergus Cousland, a smile on that disreputable-looking face of his.

"Of course, my lord. Do you want to go back and get it?"

"Not necessary. I've sent for it." And indeed, a servant was hastening up, with the armor in a sack over his back. With an energy reminiscent of his younger brother, the teyrn politely acknowledged the servant's arrival, then immediately set out towards the gate. Alistair saw the Queen gesture and a half dozen royal guardsmen fell in behind them. Pooka gave them a hopeful look and Fergus snapped his fingers. Pooka barked happily and fell in beside them.

"I see Her Majesty wanted you looked after," Alistair said, with a nod of the head back towards the guards.

Fergus looked totally unassuming, garbed as he was in gambeson and arming breeches for the fitting. Anyone watching would have considered the guards Alistair's, clad as he was in the polished Warden armor. The Teyrn grinned. "Did you think these guards were for _me_?"

"Actually, yes."

"Well, they probably are, at least a little bit," he acknowledged. "Ranking military commander in Denerim and all that. But I'm sure Anora ordered them because she knows that Corin would be very unhappy if something happened to _you _on her watch. Aside from the usual perils of battle, of course."

Alistair fell silent, contemplating the novel idea that his safety and well-being were actually paramount for a change.

"That surprises you for some reason?"

"Well, yes, to be honest."

"Modesty is all well and good, Alistair, but obtuseness _can_ be carried too far." The teyrn's smile softened the sting of the statement. "After all, if we manage to get through this, you're going to end up an arl."

"You…you don't really think that, do you? About the arldom, that is. Corin said something about it, but I thought he was joking."

Alistair found himself the recipient of a very familiar-seeming, disbelieving stare, though Fergus's was green-hazel rather than Corin's sky-blue.

"Corin wouldn't joke about that. Maker, Alistair, an arldom is the _least_ you're going to get out of this! If you make it and he doesn't, you're going to be the _King_!"

"Please, don't remind me!" Alistair groaned. The teyrn snorted and shook his head. "Which one of the two?" the young Warden asked hesitantly. Fergus shot him a wry look.

"Which of the two arldoms? Amaranthine or Denerim?" Alistair nodded.

"Good question. They've both got things to recommend them. Off the top of my head, I'd say Denerim, just because it would be easier for you. You don't know anything about stewarding land, I assume?"

"Aside from the things a stable boy knows? No." Fergus rolled his eyes and grimaced.

"Eamon has a lot to answer for, as regards you. I intend to have a conversation with him about that some day soon."

"I think Corin already has."

"I don't doubt it! I gather that he takes any offense done to you _very_ personally!" The teyrn chuckled. "In any event, Denerim might be a better choice for that very reason. There's not all that much land, which would make things easier for you. And you'd be close by Corin, which I'm sure he would prefer and I assume you would as well." Alistair nodded. "He and Anora could help you with any questions you might have. It's also the ancient _royal _arldom, so that makes it appropriate in a way. And the people of the city, particularly the elves in the Alienage, hold you in high regard already." Fergus stroked his freshly-shaven chin thoughtfully.

"_But_…Amaranthine is richer; in a way, more prestigious. She holds fealty from banns, which the other arldoms do not. Corin and Anora might feel that Amaranthine is more suited to your quasi-royal status and they would definitely want it in the hands of someone whose loyalty was unquestioned. You and your children would have a better feel for the demands of kingship, given that the banns would swear to you. A good thing, if he and Anora end up childless. And hopefully I'd be around to help you, since you'd owe fealty to the crown through me. Although…" The teyrn trailed off, frowning.

"Although what?"

"Amaranthine's banns were most of them Howe's toadies and bootlickers. A bigger bunch of traitorous, poisonous rogues you'll never meet. For that reason, I doubt Corin would want to throw you into that snake-pit, not if he has any choice in the matter."

"Maker! Let's hope not! Denerim sounds much nicer."

"That it does. Has he found a wife for you yet? Given you a list of potentials?"

"He's mentioned it once or twice," Alistair muttered. "Not any one specific."

Fergus chuckled. "Just you wait! That's one of your primary duties, you know. Royal stud. If both of you make it through the Blight together, it _will_ come up."

"What about you? Teyrnly stud and all that."

Alistair could have bitten his tongue off the next moment, watching Fergus's expression go blank and bland in the same way Corin's did when he was repressing profound emotion. "Eventually," he said flatly after a moment. "Probably with Alfstanna, since she seems to want me for some inexplicable reason. But I don't want to go there, even with Alfie, until my head's clearer about Oriana and Oren."

"I am sorry to have brought it up, Fergus," Alistair said remorsefully. "And I never expressed my condolences for your loss." The teyrn shrugged.

"For you, Highever is old news. It is still a little raw for me. I've known it for a few months now, but still…" Sorrow surfaced for a moment in the greenish eyes. "I hope you never know what it is to lose a child, Alistair. The pain of that is like nothing in the world. I find myself…disinclined to go there again, to open myself up to the possibility of that loss another time." His burly shoulders shrugged. "Doesn't matter though. I have a responsibility." He gave Alistair a direct look.

"As do you. When all is said and done, you're the last of Calenhad's line and as such, you have a _duty_ and an _obligation_ to the people of Ferelden to keep that bloodline alive, above and beyond your oaths to the Wardens." He sighed. "I don't entirely agree with how Corin handled this. I think he's too much your friend and gave too much credence to what you wanted. He should have held your feet to the fire and told you to man up and take the crown. I would have."

"I think Corin will be a _much _better King of Ferelden than I would have been, royal blood or not!" Alistair declared with some heat, scowling. Fergus threw up his hands.

"I certainly didn't mean to imply that I dispute Corin's claim to the throne! I've already assured him of that. And I am sorry, Alistair-I've got _no _right to be questioning your judgment, or his. I've not been here for any of this and hindsight always grants an unfair advantage. Besides-I suppose there's not much point in making matches or assigning arldoms yet, is there, given that we're in the middle of a Blight?" His smile was apologetic, wryly winning and pure Cousland. Alistair felt his irritation fade.

"I'm very glad you're back, Fergus. It's the best thing that's happened to Corin this year. And I'm glad to have the chance to know you."

"As am I you, Alistair Theirin. Of course, you do realize that I have an ulterior motive in asking you along this morning?"

"I assumed so."

"Huh. Not quite so obtuse as you seem, are you."

"It comes and goes as needed."

Fergus laughed. "I had my suspicions about that! But as to the reason-I just wanted to talk to you about Corin. How Highever affected him, how he's doing now…"

"You read his letter."

"I did, and it told me a lot about the _events_. But not a whole lot, except bits here and there, about his state of mind. It's obvious that he had to grow up in a hurry. I was a bit taken aback, to tell the truth, when I first saw him again. The Pup I knew-he wasn't that hard, that driven. Nor quite so calculating, to be honest."

"I think a lot of that is my fault," Alistair admitted ruefully. "After Ostagar, when we decided we needed to activate the Grey Warden treaties and call up the armies…_I_ was the senior Warden. And all I could think about was losing Duncan and the other Wardens. I'd become close to them in the months since my Joining. But it was still nothing like having your whole family and everyone you knew slaughtered. Although I didn't know the full extent of what had happened at Highever, since Corin wouldn't talk about it, I knew some of it. And I was so busy wallowing that I just didn't care. I didn't want to make the decisions and I dumped it all on Corin. For months I really didn't pull my weight. And I'm still leaning on him, to be honest."

Fergus's expression was reflective and oddly enough, it somehow worked on his brawler's countenance. "Corin told me a little bit about how Eamon raised you, Alistair. I don't think you can fault yourself for not taking command when you had it hammered into you from the time you were very small that you should never put yourself forward. You had good instincts, leaving things to Corin. Even though I was going to be the teyrn, Pup was also raised to command and govern. It was assumed that he'd be marrying into a bannorn somewhere and ruling that. Or marrying Delilah Howe. Perhaps even making an alliance marriage with the Orlesians."

"Really? The _Orlesians?_"

"Really. The Orlesian ambassador mentioned it to my father and Cailan as a possibility. Princess Henriette was a couple of years younger than Corin and she really liked horses a lot, so the ambassador thought they might suit. But the negotiation was just in the very beginning stages. In fact, it couldn't be called a negotiation at all, really. Corin was supposed to go with Father to Orlais last spring. If he and Henriette had liked each other, the talking would have started in earnest."

"Wow. A princess. But Corin did better than that, all by himself."

"That he did. I must say, I never would have considered Pup and _'Nora_ together! Not that there was any reason to with Cailan alive."

"I think they actually like each other. _She_ certainly seems to be sweet on _him_."

"So I noticed," Fergus said, grinning. "It's been fun to watch. 'Nora has loosened up quite a bit. She never used to do all that public lip-locking and tongue-tangling with Cailan. It was all polite embraces and chaste pecks on the cheek." He looked over at Alistair, his expression sobering once more.

"I don't know how much time we'll have, what with getting the city evacuated and readying the army. But if we can find the time, I would really appreciate you telling me some of what went on in the last year, Alistair. Alfie couldn't give me much in depth-she wasn't a member of your company. I'd like to know more about what happened. I _just_ got Pup back and he had to ride out. I don't know if we'll ever meet again, what with the way battle luck tends to run. It would mean a lot to me."

"I'd be glad to, Fergus. Though Leliana would give it a proper bardic treatment for you."

The teyrn shook his head. "I'd rather have Pup's best friend than a bard. Gives a clearer picture." They had arrived at the armorer's shop door with the embattled tower sign and the servant who'd been carrying the dragon bone stepped forward to hand it to Fergus. "Let's go see if Wade can do a little nip and tuck."

* * *

><p>"Ah, Master Herren!" Fergus declared expansively upon entering the shop. "I've got a bit of a rush job for Master Wade." He laid the dragonbone armor upon Herren's counter. "I need a fitting for this suit of armor. Immediately."<p>

Herren gave Fergus an obsequious smile. "Of course, Lord Fergus. I'm sure Master Wade can work you in sometime today."

"It's _Teyrn_ Fergus," the teyrn said firmly. "I'm Highever now. _And_ acting commander of the northern armies. And I need this fitted right now. I've got a meeting with the banns in little more than an hour and I don't know when I'll have the time to get back over here. If Wade can't do it, I'll have to find some armor in the palace and get one of the army armorers to tweak it."

Confronted with the prospect of losing the teyrn's business, Herren immediately buckled. "Of course, Your Grace! I'm sorry! Wade? Wade! Can you come out here? Teyrn Fergus needs some alterations done to a suit of plate."

The armorer sauntered out of the forge, wiping his hands. "Gracious, Herren! Letting my nose up from the grindstone are you? Where is this suit?" Herren indicated the dragon bone on the counter and Wade froze. "This is the _Warden's _armor! How did you come by it, my lord? And what _garbage_ is he wearing now instead? After all I did for him!"

"The Warden is my brother," Fergus said. Herren and Wade gave him almost identical looks of surprise. Corin had never given the armorers his name, in an effort to keep his comings and goings in the city unnoticed. "He gave the armor to me because he said it had gotten him through some bad fights. I needed armor and he said he trusted Wade's work above anyone's to keep me safe." Wade visibly preened. "And he's still wearing your handiwork, Master Wade. He's the Crown Prince of Ferelden now, made so just the other day in the Landsmeet, and he's wearing the set of gilded dragon bone plate you made for the late King Cailan. You wouldn't have known, because of course he had to take it to another armorer to have it fitted."

"_Another_ armorer? Why?" Wade sputtered. "I would have been _happy _to fit it to him!"

"I _thought_ you would have," Fergus commiserated. "I told Corin so. And it certainly would have been _much_ more convenient! But he told me about Master Herren forbidding him the shop after he brought you the drake scales and the dragonbone. He assumed that you did not wish his custom, that he'd imposed on you enough. So he had the royal armor fitted by some northern smith close by Highever. Someone by the name of …Dryden, I think. It's a shame, really. He found some starmetal not too long ago and had to take that to Dryden as well, since you weren't available to him. The sword Dryden forged out of it is the talk of Denerim. Starfang, it's called. It will probably end up becoming the Sword of State."

"Starmetal! The Warden found _starmetal_? And took it to _another_ armorer?" Wade all but shrieked. "I have wanted to work with starmetal for…forever!" He put hands on hips and glared at Herren, his expression thunderous. "Is this _true_, Heerrren? You forbade the _Crown Prince _my shop?"

"I didn't know he was a Cousland or the Crown Prince!" Herren protested. "He kept bringing you all those dragon bits and you'd drop the paying customers to work on them! We can't keep a roof over our heads that way!"

"In all fairness, Master Wade, Corin wasn't the Crown Prince until the day before yesterday. And he _was_ trying to keep his identity a secret. There is no way Master Herren would have known," Fergus said in an apparent effort to appease, though Alistair noticed what might be a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

"'You wouldn't have a roof over your head without me, Wade!'" the armorer was snarling, with total disregard for his audience. The guardsmen and the servant were all watching a bit wide-eyed and Pooka's head was moving back and forth between the two men as if they were tossing a ball. "'You've no head for business, Wade!' 'You'd starve to death without me, Wade!' 'Working with fantastical materials doesn't pay the bills, Wade!' Well I may have my head in the clouds, Herren, because of my 'overly artistic nature' as you put it, but even _I've_ got sense enough not to tell the _Crown Prince_ that he's not welcome here!"

"Wade, I-"

"I am going to fit the Teyrn now, Herren. He's a busy man and his time is important. This is not done; no, it's _not_! We will be speaking of this later! Unless, of course, you think the _Teyrn of Highever _is too exalted in station to patronize us and want to forbid _him_ the shop as well!"

"No, of course not, Wade," Herren said feebly. "By all means, my lord teyrn. We thank you for your custom. And please tell the Crown Prince when he returns that he is welcome at Wade's Emporium any time."

"Isn't it treason if you don't let him in?" Alistair couldn't resist asking. He'd been mightily annoyed at having to trek up to Soldier's Peak every time they wanted armor work done, when Wade's was right across the Marketplace. "It's _his _country, after all." Herren looked decidedly green.

* * *

><p>Grumbling continuously under his breath, Wade escorted Fergus and Alistair back into the smithy. There, Fergus donned Corin's armor and stood, moving arms and legs as the armorer directed, while Wade marked measurements upon the dragon bone. Alistair, watching, was struck by the similarity of what the tailor had done to Corin. Certain other similarities between Wade and said tailor caused him to have to suppress a smile. Fergus, seeing his expression, winked at him when Wade wasn't looking.<p>

"Corin's a much bigger lad than I am, Master Wade. If taking the suit in that much isn't possible, please let me know. I'll buy something from your common stock."

"No, no," Wade muttered absently around the extra wax crayon protruding from his mouth. "It will be fine, my lord teyrn. There's not that much difference in the body as you might think, other than the shoulders. And the arms and legs can be shortened a bit. The elbows and knees seem to fit you well enough, and those are the tricky bits. As commander of the armies, you should have the best armor possible and _this _is one of my masterworks. Since I have to take it apart anyway to do the cutting, I'll go ahead and re-strap everything new. If you can come back at the same time tomorrow morning, it will be ready and I'll do a final fitting."

"That would be perfect. Thank you, Master Wade. And if I could have a word with you and Master Herren upon another matter, please?" Wade looked over Fergus's shoulder to give Herren a disgruntled gesture and the counter man stepped warily back into the forge.

"Have you a portable forge, Master Wade?" Fergus asked when they were both with him.

"No…I suppose I could set something up, given a heavy enough wagon," Wade said, puzzled. "Why?"

"You might want to go ahead and buy that wagon today, as soon as possible. Wagons are going to become very dear in the next little bit. There's a darkspawn horde on its way to Denerim. We're going to evacuate the city of civilians. The official announcement will be made tomorrow. Consider this a bit of payback for letting me jump the queue, as it were."

"Really? The army is not going to try and hold the city?" Herren gasped. Fergus shook his head.

"No. We will be drawing the bulk of the army north, save for a token force to lure the horde into the city. They won't be able to hold the horde off long, so the civilians need to go. My brother has gone south to bring our allied armies north. When he gets here, we'll make one concerted push to kill the Archdemon. That will end the Blight." _Fergus certainly has that Cousland confidence thing down pat, _Alistair thought as he listened. _He makes it sound like victory is a sure thing._

The master armorer and his counter man began looking about the forge, obviously making mental lists about what had to go and what they could afford to lose.

"Master Wade? I do hope you'll be able to finish the dragonbone first?" Fergus nudged.

Wade gave him a slightly panicked look. "Oh, of course, my lord teyrn. I'll leave one fire hot just for it."

"If you can stoop to working upon common things, there will always be a place for you with the army."

"Thank you, my lord teyrn. I will consider it." Wade's distraction obviously wasn't going to abate any time soon, so Fergus said good-bye to the two men and stepped outside the shop with Alistair.

"There. Every guild craftsman in the city just got the heads-up about the evacuation," he said with satisfaction when the door had closed behind them.

"What do you mean?"

"Herren is one of the worst gossips in the city. He'll make sure he and Wade get what they need to leave first, then he'll pass the word along to his friends, who'll hire their own wagons and pass the word along to _their_ friends and so-forth and so on. I'll wager a lot of them will be leaving by first light tomorrow."

"Is that fair, really, warning them first?"

"Absolutely not, in the strictest sense of the word. But Alistair, the skilled craftsmen are the people we're going to need to rebuild this place when everything's over. I don't mind them getting a bit of an advantage as far as the evacuation goes and some extra time to get all their equipment away."

Alistair pondered that as they began the long, weary trudge back up the hill to the palace. "I guess I see where you're coming from, Fergus. But I must say, I didn't know you were such an evil man."

"Evil?" The teyrn's tone was puzzled. "About the craftsmen thing?"

"No. Telling Wade about the starmetal. Mikhail forged Starfang well before Corin commissioned the dragonbone armor. Herren barring him from the shop wouldn't have made any difference about that."

Fergus gave the young Warden an aggrieved look. "Maker's sake, Alistair! I'm just getting caught up here! Surely you can't expect me to remember every little detail about the chronology of what Corin did in the last year flawlessly? After reading his letter just once?" Alistair would almost have believed him had Fergus not continued, the aggrieved look transmuting into a smirk. "Besides, Wade and Herren apparently hadn't noticed that Corin had been carrying Starfang all along either."

"Definitely evil, my lord."

"Fergus."

"All right then. Evil Fergus."

"I suppose I am. Poor Herren may very well be in for a spanking tonight. Of course, he might like that…"

"Euuuwww…"

The teyrn chuckled, then stopped in his tracks.

"Hey! Don't you have that Grey Wardens-eat-everything-in-sight-that-the-darkspawn-don't-blight thing going on?"

"Yeeesssss…"

Fergus started retracing his steps, turning towards the Gnawed Noble. "I really don't want to face the bannorn lords again without a little fortification. Particularly Ceorlic-his voice is much too shrill for this early in the morning. Hurts my ears. Let's get you a quick second breakfast and I'll have an ale before we go back. Maybe two... That all right with you?" Pooka, knowing their progress towards the tavern meant the possibility of food, began to frisk about them.

Alistair looked at the teyrn. Shorter than Corin, browner than Corin, older than Corin. Despite his sorrow more of a jester than his younger brother, but apparently with a mind near as keen. _Not _Corin nor a substitute for him. But someone who might very well, in time, become a good friend in his own right.

"That would be great, Fergus."


	30. Chapter 30

Thanks to Zxzdragon, mille libri, lazyguy90, animevideogamefreak, Marvey4, Ronin Kenshin, karthik9, Bluumberry (glad to have you back!), owl208, xseikax, none, LunaMoth116, MrPowell, Mike3207, and JordanMathias for the lovely comments on the last chapter.

We've got the obligatory catch-people up to Corin going on this chapter. Battle of Denerim starting next chapter. A note about travel time. That business about doing the Dark Ritual one night in Redcliffe and arriving at Denerim seemingly the next day? Doesn't make sense, unless Ferelden's twenty miles across. I think it's another bit of game shorthand, so I'm obviously ignoring it. A forced march on foot from Redcliffe to Denerim is going to take nine days since the chart I was using stated it was 270 miles from Redcliffe village to Denerim. I'm being generous, because from what I can tell most medieval/Roman armies did 15-25 miles a day tops and I'm giving Corin and crew 30 miles a day because their hearts are pure and all that and because the Dalish are brewing up scads of elfroot for all the blisters.

* * *

><p>People started trickling out of Denerim the next morning. Fergus had told Anora of what he'd done with Wade and Herren. Most of the early departures were in fact the city's skilled craftsmen and merchants, though by the end of the day the flood had swelled to include citizens of all sorts. The poorest would be the last to leave, for they did not have the resources to survive long out in the open. And it was possible that some of them would hide and stay, betting their lives that the city would not fall to the darkspawn and that there would be rich pickings for them. The City Guard would do what they could to make sure that everyone was gone, but they could not venture into every tenement attic, every sewer. It may have been sound strategy to completely empty Denerim of all the women, but Anora did not think it would happen in fact.<p>

She was doing her part, however. Fergus had gone to talk to Hahren Valendrian the evening before about evacuating the Alienage and had returned with a small, lovely elven girl about seven years old, the Amethyne Corin had mentioned.

"Her kin think she'd be safer with us, 'Nora. I told them she'd be staying with the royal household. You don't have to look after her yourself, of course. I can put her with the royal maids."

But Anora had looked down into the lost blue eyes and found herself moved. No father, no mother, no way of knowing how well her kin had treated her after the money Iona had been sending had stopped. "That is not necessary, Fergus. Corin asked me to look after her, so I will. She can stay with Erlina and me." A look of surprised approval came over his craggy face.

"Very well then. Remember, we've got yet another meeting with the bannorn lords and the commanders this evening after dinner. Looks to be a long one. You might want to get a nap in."

"As opposed to napping _at_ the meeting, which would be a much more sensible course?" He actually laughed, and she was glad to see it.

"You have a point! I'll escort you, if that's all right."

"I will see you then."

Fergus bowed and left, leaving Anora under the curious gaze of the little girl.

"You are really the Queen, my lady?" she asked.

"I am." Whereupon Amethyne made a graceful little curtsey. "My momma taught me that I should do that. Your Majesty."

"Your mother taught you very well."

Amethyne nodded, her blue eyes huge. "Are there things I should be doing, Your Majesty? I am strong for my age."

"No, not right now. Erlina and I are packing and we might get you to help with that later. Are you hungry?" A vigorous nod answered that. "Well, let's get you something to eat and get you settled. We'll be going on a journey soon, but we've got a night or two yet. Erlina has a trundle bed under hers that you can sleep in, and we'll see about getting you some traveling clothes this afternoon."

"You are very kind, Your Majesty," came Amethyne's soft voice. After a moment, she added, "Your hair is almost the color of my mother's."

"Your mother was a very nice lady, from all I've heard. Why don't you tell me about her while you eat." Erlina went to ring the servant's bell for dinner and there was a small smile on her usually imperturbable face.

* * *

><p>When the evacuation order was announced, the Grand Cleric immediately set the Chantry into a scurry of activity. There were relics and priceless tomes to be carefully packaged, the Chantry's wagons and teams to be seen to, the Chantry's funds to be placed under Templar guard, and every Templar in the city, even the older, lyrium-addled ones, to be mobilized and their supplies of lyrium secured.<p>

Worried that the Crown Prince's favor might gain her a higher place in the Cleric's train than she felt she merited, Agnetha slipped away to begin packing as soon as she heard the news about the order. The Grand Cleric had Mothers aplenty to see to her needs, but the poorer people of the city would be suffering and frightened, perhaps even driven to preying upon each other in this tumultuous time.

So she filled a small knapsack with a couple of changes of clothing, some soap, a washcloth, a candle and flint and steel and her copy of the Chant. Anything else she needed Andraste would provide. She went out into the city in her sensible shoes and travel cloak, looking for the one cleric she respected above all others, regardless of station, and found Mother Boann in the tenements, speaking to a crowd of frightened people. Though the Mother was a loved and trusted figure among these people, they were almost on the verge of panic.

Until the sister with the golden hair and the sunny smile and the lovely voice showed up.

"Please! You all must take your turns!" She called over the discontented rumble of the crowd. Though her voice cut above the hubbub, it nonetheless had a soft, intimate quality that made people want to be quiet and listen. "I know that you all are frightened. And I know that the first thing that occurs to you all is to take care of yourselves and _your_ families. That is only human nature. But if we all have faith and work together and take care of the least among us as Our Lady would wish, then we will _all_ leave this place safely. And Maker willing, return safely in time." She gestured to a space off to her left. "Would all of you who have wagons or hand-carts of any sort, please gather over there. Would all of you who have people who cannot walk, please come over here to Mother Boann next to them. And would any of you strong men who can guard us and help keep the peace please gather here with me. If anyone has parchment or paper and writing implements, that would be very useful. We have much to do. We must establish a food supply, find a way to carry drinking water with us and make some portable shelters. So we'd best be about it."

The discontented noise died away, became a more purposeful sound. Mother Boann watched, amazed, as the young sister, who seemed to have some sort of instinctive understanding about what a refugee train needed, flitted from one group to another, coaxing, cajoling people to share their skills, their resources, to help one another as Andraste would wish. She could shame the burliest, most truculent dock worker into compliance with her wishes with just a sad smile and soothe the most panicked child with a hug and a kiss. In previous encounters with Agnetha, the young sister had been almost painfully shy. Boann wondered where all the confidence had come from.

"Our Lady herself must have sent you, Agnetha," Mother Boann declared as the two of them took a moment's break. "I've never been so glad to see someone in all my life." She handed a biscuit and a flask of tea to the younger woman, who smiled sublimely in response.

"Actually, it was my own feet that got me here. I knew that you would need help. You, of all the Mothers in the city, do Our Lady's work as I think She would have it done."

Mother Boann blushed, feeling oddly complemented by the praise from a mere sister. "Not that I'm not grateful, for I am, but why are you not at the Chantry? I figured Her Grace would want to keep you close to hand, lest she have to answer to the Prince later."

"Her Grace has plenty of people to see her out of the city. I was needed here."

"You do seem to know quite a bit about this."

"I fled West Reach already, remember? I watched and learned a lot about what people need in an evacuation as I walked to Denerim. I may not know all I should know as a sister yet, but I'm an _expert_ on fleeing!"

* * *

><p>Fergus had almost as much energy as his younger brother, Alistair thought, though there was the odd, unguarded moment when the young Warden would see sorrow and weariness shadow his face. He certainly possessed an almost bottomless fund of patience, as meeting after meeting progressed, and individual lords were coaxed and cajoled into foregoing their own safety or advantage or profit in favor of the realm's needs.<p>

As the senior Grey Warden in the city, Alistair was almost always to be found at Fergus's side, and in doing so, he was learning quite a bit about governance and command by simple absorption. Fergus didn't mind if he asked questions; he'd often query Alistair himself about things in private afterwards if Alistair was looking puzzled or confused.

"You're very patient with me, Fergus," Alistair had commented as they left a meeting.

"Just used to being an older brother, I guess." Fergus smiled wryly. "Old habit. Can't seem to shake it."

Bann Alfstanna was at the meetings as well, of course, but if she found any time to speak to Fergus privately, Alistair didn't know of it. He'd see her green eyes intent upon the older Cousland from time to time, but she apparently was well aware that the time and place weren't appropriate, even when Fergus's mourning state wasn't taken into consideration. She was a welcome ally when some of the banns got fractious and Alistair found his respect for her growing.

Cauthrien came to some of the meetings, the rest of the time she was out and about on business of her own. She brought Alistair an exquisitely detailed map of the streets of Denerim she'd acquired by some means from a map-maker.

"Of course, if the city has been besieged or even taken, this will change," she said clinically as they surveyed it together. "There will be buildings down, perhaps wagons and carts as obstacles. But it is a good starting point."

Alistair thanked her, then said earnestly, "Look…I know you know a lot more about this sort of thing than I do. If you see me doing something really stupid, stop me, won't you? I won't mind." Dark, haunted eyes turned on him and he kicked himself mentally when he realized what he had said.

"I've not proven myself very good at that to date," came her voice, soft and distant. "But yes, I will bring any glaring errors I see to your attention." The corner of her mouth crooked up into what could almost be called a smile. "You're not doing so badly, Alistair. You're good with people and you have good instincts. I don't imagine I'll be having to do that often."

If someone had told him a month ago, there would come a time when he would feel grateful to _Cauthrien, _he'd have asked what they were drinking. But there it was. Corin had been his prop, his reassurance that he wouldn't be allowed to do anything too stupid and he felt Corin's absence keenly. Alistair smiled at his Warden sister. "Thanks, Cauthrien. I'm glad you're here."

Her almost-smile became one in truth. Alistair thought she ought to do it more often-it changed her face entirely.

"You're welcome. I actually find myself glad to be here…brother."

* * *

><p>The question of who to leave behind in the city was one that troubled Anora greatly, but in the end, it was taken out of the hands of both Queen and commander. When the awkward subject was finally broached at the last strategy meeting, Commander Taver, her father's most trusted captain after Cauthrien, stood. He was a severely elegant man, with graying black hair and a neat goatee and mustache that Loghain had often said smacked of Orlesian affectation. Taver had kept them nonetheless. His dark eyes surveyed the room.<p>

"Gwaren will stay, Your Majesty, my lord teyrn. I and my commanders have left you a good core of younger men, men with families to build the teyrnir's forces back up when this is over. The rest of us…well, let us just say this is penance for Ostagar. We won't be retreating again."

A silence fell, which was then broken by Arl Wulff. "Some of my men and I are staying as well, Your Majesty."

A hubbub broke out at that, which was silenced by Wulff's upraised hand. "Silence!" he said harshly. "West Hills is _gone_! Who knows if it will ever be fertile again! My wife is long dead, my sons are gone as well and I do not have the heart to get any more, even were I able to do so. You may give it to whomsoever you please, if any of us live through this. My house is ended, but I can do this one last thing for Ferelden."

"Gallagher, are you sure that you want to do this?" Anora asked softly. She was fond of the crusty arl and knew better than to try to dissuade Taver from a course of action.

The arl nodded his grey head. "Taver and I have discussed this and this is what we want, Anora. We could use a few more men, though, if any want to volunteer. I'd appreciate it if you would put the word out."

The word was put out and Taver and Wulff found their ranks oddly easy to fill, with greying veterans who had raised their children, or had none, or had lost most everything to the Blight. Their sacrifice also brought the last of the squabbling nobles into line, shaming them into cooperation. The army was as ready as it would ever be.

* * *

><p>Fergus was surprised to find himself confronted by a Chantry sister and brother as he made his way upon yet another tour of the city, this time with Alfstanna at his side. Alistair was back at the palace arranging for the evacuation of his and Corin's fellow adventurers.<p>

"I am Brother Genitivi, my lord teyrn," the big-nosed brother said. "This is Sister Agnetha," he added, gesturing to the blond-haired sister who stood beside him. She had a peasant's prettiness and a soothing presence about her. The name also seemed familiar somehow…

"I've read some of your books, Brother Genitivi. Most enjoyable. What can I do for you today?"

"You are very kind, my lord teyrn. Actually, the sister and I were hoping we could speak to you about the royal granaries. We've organized a fairly large group of refugees, folk from the poorer quarters, and were wondering if we could get some grain to take with us to feed them."

"I don't see why not. You've actually made my job easier. I was wondering exactly how to distribute that so that people wouldn't starve. How many people do you have?"

"Approximately five hundred, my lord," came the sister's soft voice. Fergus blinked at her in surprise.

"You've organized that many people, sister? Impressive work."

"Oh, it was hardly just me, my lord teyrn. Mother Boann and a couple of the other mothers who work with the poor have been doing most of the work. And Brother Genitivi has been a huge help since he joined us."

"I'm a bit surprised to hear that so many clerics are still in the city, to be honest. Other than the ones with the army. The Grand Cleric didn't waste any time leaving."

"The Grand Cleric is very important, and very dear to the Divine. We can be spared much more easily," the young sister said with a limpid smile. Fergus suddenly placed her.

"Wait…Sister Agnetha… Aren't you Corin's sister?"

"Actually, I am _Andraste's_ sister, Teyrn Cousland," she said, gentle chiding in her voice. "But yes, I have spoken to the Crown Prince on a couple of occasions."

"Whatever are you doing here still? I would have thought you'd be with the Grand Cleric."

"I am sure the Grand Cleric thought that as well, my lord teyrn," she said, straight-faced. Fergus laughed, shaking his head. Alfstanna was chuckling.

"We've got those eight wagon-loads, Fergus. We could send them with the clerics, along with their guard. The mothers could see to the distribution. Which would be one less headache for us."

"Works for me. Got any parchment, Alfie?"

"If you will permit me, my lord teyrn…" Genitivi said. He had a small box with him, slung over his shoulder on a strap. When it was opened, it turned out to be a very clever little traveling desk, with a place for a sealed bottle of ink, stored in such a way that it would not spill, pens, sand, pumice, parchment and pen-knife.

"Do you carry this with you wherever you go, brother?"

"When I can. It is very well-traveled, my lord." The brother produced a piece of reasonably clean parchment and supported the desk in his arms while Fergus quickly wrote out the order, sealing it with his ring.

"There you are. Do let me know if you have any further problems. I'm grateful that you've taken all of those people in hand. I'm sure you've probably insured their survival."

"From your lips to the Lady's ears, my lord teyrn," Genitivi said. The two clerics bowed, then departed.

"That was nice," Alfstanna commented when they had gone, "to see people taking responsibility and helping others."

"Makes you feel almost hopeful, doesn't it?" Fergus agreed.

_I've been hopeful since the first time I laid eyes on you after your return, my lord, _Alfstanna thought, but said nothing aloud.

* * *

><p>Over the course of three days, Denerim emptied, her people spilling like life's blood from a wound in a ragged line stretching north towards Amaranthine. Fergus and Anora had had a brief and pointed meeting with Bann Esmerelle before she departed for Amaranthine, spelling out in no uncertain terms what sort of succor she was to provide for the refugees and what was expected of her in terms of overall cooperation.<p>

Anora had been at her chilliest, for she detested the woman, who had been one of Howe's chief toadies as well as his mistress, if rumor were to be believed. Anyone who would willingly bed with Rendon Howe was worthy of nothing but contempt in her book.

"I would step lightly, were I you, Esmerelle," she had said coolly. "And do _exactly_ as we have directed you. All of the arldoms in Ferelden are currently vacant. It would be but a little more chaotic to empty a bannorn or two as well, and my King-to-be is a _Cousland_."

Esmerelle's pursed little lips had been quick to spout declarations of loyalty and obedience, which neither Anora nor Fergus believed for one minute. But they had let her go, knowing that they had no other choice until she could actually be caught in some mischief. And it was entirely possible that Esmerelle would toe the line, knowing that she had had a narrow escape with Howe's death and that it was in her own best interests to do so.

Fergus had sent Captain Rickard and the men who had made it with him out of the Wilds scouting towards Highever, to see what they could find out about the state of the city. Certainly, no one claiming rulership over it had shown up for the Landsmeet or the call to arms. Rickard and the others, particularly Coulter, knew that land like the backs of their hands. Fergus hoped that they could get in, take a look around and return back to him with some current information. Being so close to his teyrnir, without the time nor the resources to do anything about bringing it back under Cousland control, was extremely frustrating for him. Anora thought he must feel a little like she had under her father's regency-impotent to do anything about the things she cared about.

Both she and Alfstanna made a point of seeing that Fergus got regular meals and just enough drink to help him sleep at night; Alfstanna because of what was apparently a long-held romantic attachment and Anora because of long friendship. Besides, it was what both Cailan and Corin would have wanted her to do.

It was odd, how she found herself missing someone she had known for so short a time. Fergus's voice held echoes of Corin, though Corin's was lighter, cooler, more incisive. Sometimes, if Fergus was around a corner or in a room and she without, for a moment she would think that Corin was there, and her heart would make a painful thump.

And there was so very little that was his in the suite, nothing to pack save for the blue suit and those clothes of Cailan's that he'd claimed for himself. It was almost as if he'd been nothing but a dream or figment of the imagination. Even the shirt he'd worn the day they'd ridden Sable had been promptly laundered and bore nothing of his scent. Only the note he'd written her the morning after their evening together proved that he'd actually been with her.

_If __I__ give you yellow roses, it doesn't mean friendship. It means I'm thinking horribly improper, passionate thoughts about you. _

Chiding herself for being a sentimental fool, Anora folded the note up into a silk handkerchief and tucked it down the front of her dress, where it nestled between her breasts and was warmed by the contact with her skin.

* * *

><p>The army moved out on the third day. Anora had the carriage for Erlina and Amethyne and intended to spend some time there herself. But she thought it might hearten people to see her out and about, so she'd also ordered her grey hunter brought along, and putting her long unused armor on, was set to ride the first part of the day at least.<p>

She was actually in the act of mounting when she felt a hand upon her arm, and turning, saw Corin's elderly mage looking at her with concern.

"Your Majesty, were you going to ride throughout the evacuation?"

"At least part of the time. I thought it might put some heart in people."

"You might want to reconsider. It might not harm anything and I would not have said anything so early, but given the circumstances…"

Anora felt a tingle of anticipation thrill through her veins. "What are you talking about, Senior Enchanter?"

"You and Corin were…together before he left, were you not?"

"Yes," Anora said hesitantly, even while chiding herself for that hesitation. They were betrothed, after all. It was all perfectly respectable and the elderly mage did not seem disapproving.

"I thought you might have been. You are with child. Very early, of course. You yourself would not have become aware for some time yet. But a mage can tell and I thought you should know, so as to take precautions."

Relief and joy overwhelmed Anora, five years of anxiety suddenly banished. She draped her reins over her arm and covered her face with her hands for a moment, endeavoring to breathe slowly, peripherally aware of her mare nosing her for treats. "Maker and his Bride be praised!" she breathed, all the while thinking with spiteful satisfaction, _Take __**that**__, Eamon Guerrin! __**One **__time with someone other than Cailan and I catch right off! It __**wasn't**__ my__ fault!_

When she had recovered herself, she looked up at the mage. "Thank you for this news, Senior Enchanter. Will you…keep an eye on things for me? Make sure that everything is all right?"

"I would be happy to. 'Tis a fragile hope you carry, and it should be looked after. For now-perhaps the carriage would be a better idea? At least where the roads are still good? Over rough ground, a horse might actually be the better choice and smoother ride. You will start feeling tired soon. Be sure to take all the rest you can-it is important not to overextend yourself. I know that you do not wish to hear this, but there is nothing more important you can do for Ferelden at this point than to keep that baby safe. Fergus Cousland is perfectly capable of leading an army."

"I will bear it in mind," Anora said, tethering her mare to the back of the carriage. "I…do not think I should tell anyone yet though. I would not like them to be disappointed in case…things do not work out."

"I agree. Until you are at least two to three months along, there is no need to announce it. You might tell Fergus, though. He should know and it might serve to cheer him a little."

Opening the carriage door, Anora gestured to the mage. "You're with me for now, Senior Enchanter. At least until the battles begin."

"Until then," Wynne agreed and got inside. Anora followed her.

* * *

><p>The army marched out of Denerim, then made camp to the north, under the cover of a nearby forest, hopefully far enough from the city that the darkspawn would not be tempted to leave Denerim and come after them before the Crown Prince could arrive, while close enough that they could respond swiftly when he did. Once they had made camp, there was nothing to do but wait. Anyone who had a spyglass was a very popular person. Some folk were charging for the use of theirs. The glasses were always trained upon the city, but there was nothing that could be seen. The soldiers within were apparently keeping off of the battlements; a wise course of action given that there was a dragon involved.<p>

Towards evening of the second day after their departure, the darkspawn horde reached Denerim. Hubbub broke out under the eaves of the forest and the news was brought to Fergus and Anora, who made their way down to the verge with Cauthrien and Alistair so that they could take a look.

The two Wardens were very quiet as they walked. Anora gave Alistair a piercing look. "Can you feel it?"

"Oh, yes." Cauthrien merely nodded.

"Can _it_ feel _you_?"

Alistair's brow furrowed. "Duncan always said as much. And there was a time when Corin and I both dreamed that it saw us. We woke up to find that our encampment was being attacked by shrieks."

"Could it find us by sensing you?"

"I suppose that is possible," Alistair admitted.

"It doesn't matter, 'Nora," Fergus said firmly. "We all need to stay together. We can't send Alistair and Cauthrien away from the army. We'd lose two of our precious Wardens that way. If the dragon wants to come in under the trees after us, I'd say let's let it."

"And if it just decides to burn the forest down around our ears?" Cauthrien asked coolly.

"Then we go for it before Corin gets here." They arrived at the edge of the forest then, and Fergus produced his own spyglass, training it upon the city. "Maker, would you look at the _size_ of it!" he breathed, then passed the glass to Anora after watching for a couple of minutes.

Even at this distance, the dragon could be plainly seen, swooping in great circles around the city and blasting it with fire. She passed the glass in her turn onto Alistair, who took a look and gave it to Cauthrien.

"You and Corin have killed what, two high dragons, Alistair?" Fergus asked as they took turns looking.

"Yes. One of them was laired above Haven. The other one was Morrigan's mother."

"_What_?"

"Morrigan's mother was an extremely powerful apostate. She shape-changed into a high dragon to fight us."

"Maker!"

"Yes, I didn't know that was possible. Apparently Morrigan didn't either. She was very surprised when we told her about it."

"Is this one the same size as those other dragons?"

"No." The young Warden's expression was somber. "This one's a lot bigger."

* * *

><p>Fergus ordered a cold camp to avoid detection; all campfires doused, all candles and lanterns forbidden unless shuttered. There was a lot of grumbling, but everyone appreciated the necessity. The moon was almost half-full and waxing, but the light was dim under the trees. Alistair made his way back to his and Cauthrien's tent, intending to try to get some sleep, futile though that might be with the Archdemon's presence pressing on him so.<p>

He found, however, that his bed was already occupied, by a raven-haired personage in silverite armor_. "Morrigan?"_

"Just a moment…just need a moment to rest…" she muttered. Greatly daring, Alistair took her by the shoulders and gave her a shake.

"Morrigan! Did you bring news?" Her golden eyes snapped open, filled with bleary ire.

"Redcliffe is cleared of darkspawn. Corin left there yesterday morning. Expect him in eight…no…seven days now. Tell that brother of his." Plum-colored eyelids slid down over the hawk-like eyes once more.

"Maker! You were in _Redcliffe_ yesterday morning?" Alistair inadvertently gave her shoulders another shake.

"Yes! Flew the whole way, you fucking idiot!" came the muted snarl. "Now leave me be!" Alistair grinned, released her shoulders, then pulled his blanket politely over Morrigan's armored and already softly snoring form. After all, there was no way he was going to try to take that armor off…Then he got up and went to find Fergus and Anora, to give them the good news.

_Corin is on his way!_


	31. Chapter 31

Having passed the big 3-0 chapter landmark, I have to pause and say how absolutely astounded I am at this story's reception. Thanks to all who have ever read, reviewed, favorited or alerted! And thanks to Mike (an interesting point you make there...), owl (can't promise I'll toad Alistair though it is tempting at times...), Jade Ookami, lazyguy90, mille libri, Mr. Powell, JordanMathias, none, animevideogamefreak, Otoot (I'll try to give you some Sten carnage next chapter), Marvey4, Suilven, karthik9, xseikax, spectre4hire, Mike3207 (again!), and Ronin Kenshin.

Battle of Denerim starts next chapter. I promise.

* * *

><p><em>Unto Her Royal Majesty, Anora Mac Tir Theirin, Queen of Ferelden, does Corin Cousland, Crown Prince of Ferelden, send respectful greeting…<em>

_Oh, bollocks on all that!_

_Anora-_

_I trust that this letter finds you well and that you're not in the front line of battle or anything of the sort. I'm the only Grey Warden here, since Riordan has presumably gone back north to join all of you and Alistair and Cauthrien. So I stay awake on watch all night, sensing for darkspawn, ride in the morning and sleep in one of the wagons during the afternoon. People don't begrudge me the ride, since I'm watching every night and the routine actually works pretty well for me. I'm getting better sleep than I usually do. I've been writing this at night right after dinner over the last couple of days._

_We rounded up every horse, every ox, and every cart we could find in Redcliffe to use for the armies, and some farmers along the way volunteered their carts as well. Everyone knows we need to get to Denerim as swiftly as possible. Poor Sable and his son and all the horses we rode south were pressed into service as pack animals, carrying packs so that the allied soldiers can move more quickly, unburdened. My fine Orlesian-bred warhorses are for the most part too weary to protest this demeaning demotion, though they do still manage a little frisking first thing in the morning. Sometimes they carry people as well, when someone needs a rest. I wish you could have seen me leading Sable with Kardol, the captain of the Legion of the Dead on his back! Kardol, who considers himself dead already and faces the most horrific concentrations of darkspawn in the deepest places of the earth with great courage, looked positively green! But he said he wanted to try riding a horse just once, so he could say that he'd done it, although he stuck to the wagons after that one time. _

_For all the walking I've done in the past year, this is still wearisome, because we are pressing the pace so swiftly. And I'm only walking half the time. Arl Eamon is riding in one of the wagons. He walks half a day like I do, and rides the rest of the way, though we're not asking him to keep watch. Teagan is really being a trooper, always ready with a smile or funny story for people, as are Zevran and Leliana. Of all of us, the Dalish are managing the best (as you might imagine), though some of the younger mages are doing better than I had thought they would. When I asked one of the young elven enchanters about that, she grinned and reminded me of all the stairs in the Circle Tower! She seemed to be enjoying the adventure greatly and the novelty of the world outside the tower. The other younger mages are for the most part uneasy. They have been so sheltered that this is all new and strange for them. Quite a few of the Senior Enchanters have traveled beyond Kinloch before so they aren't minding being outside so much, though they tire more easily due to age. I suppose in a way that this journey is good for all of them. It will give them some physical training for the rigors of the battle at Denerim._

_The dwarves have great stamina, but the pace we are making is hard for them to keep up with on their shorter legs, so they tend to use the wagons in shifts to rest their folk. A lot of them walk with their shields propped over their heads or hoods pulled up to avoid the sun. So this trip is as good an acclimatization for them as for the mages, just in a different way._

_We're traveling light, with no tents for the most part, though the Dalish have some hide tarp things they string up for shelter over branches at night. The rest of us are envious. Less said the better about the two days of rain we went through right after leaving Redcliffe. Damp dwarves are surly to say the least and damp human soldiers are not much better! There was extensive gambling going on, to win places under and in the parked wagons._

_I have been talking with some of the mages about life in the Circle. Anora, we need to look into that when the Blight is over. While none of them were exactly forthcoming and I am given to understand that as Towers go, ours is better than some, nonetheless I get the distinct impression that there has been some mistreatment. Eamon's been doing some investigation of his own, as you can imagine, given that Conner is destined to go there. I don't think he likes everything he's hearing either. Which may make him inclined to support us if we press for reform in some manner later._

_I honestly don't know if I'll get the chance to see you again before we engage in the final battle, though I hope that I do. I would have sent you a yellow rose, but they're all gone now with the onset of winter. So please find enclosed a yellow flower from some sort of weed instead. It was the best I could do-pretty and enduring (like a certain lady I know) and hopefully it won't make you sneeze!_

_I've enclosed letters for you and Fergus and Alistair, to be opened in the event of my death. I'm not being morbid, just realistic. We are coming as fast as we can , I swear to you that we are. I can only imagine what you all have been through in our absence. It must have been very hard to leave Denerim. Morrigan told me of Wulff and Taver. I know you'd known both of them for a long time and that their decision must have weighed upon you heavily. I keep them and all of the men with them in my thoughts and prayers, as I do you and Fergus and my friends._

_Thank you for taking Amethyne into your care personally. I was very touched when Morrigan told me you had done that. She will be safest with you and that safety would be the most important thing to her mother, above and beyond her cultural identity._

_Be careful! Take care of yourself. You are Ferelden's best hope if Alistair and I both fall._

_Yours by oath and inclination,_

_Corin_

* * *

><p>Morrigan had brought the packet of letters on her return after she'd flown back to the allies at Fergus's request to apprise Corin of what was going on. Which was that the Archdemon seemed to be content to roost in Denerim, though it had sent parties of darkspawn out into the countryside to search for humans. She had even ventured over Denerim itself briefly, in daylight, but could see nothing of the men who had been left behind to hold the city. The darkspawn had seemed to hold the entirety of the city, except perhaps for Fort Drakon. The army had pulled back further north, both to avoid confrontation before the allies arrived and it was at full strength and to cover the retreat of the evacuees. The three Grey Wardens had split up and taken large patrols out. There had been skirmishing, which always ended victoriously for the Fereldan side of things, though there had been minor casualties. Soldiers spoke of all the Wardens with respect but they were particularly in awe of Alistair Theirin and his crew of formidable warriors-the Qunari, the dwarf, the golem and the mabari. They fought with the deadly efficiency of people who had done so together for a long time and knew each other's moves and strategies by heart.<p>

"That Theirin Warden," Anora overheard one of them saying one night at camp as she walked through, "he certainly keeps a cool head, don't he? Jokes all the time, he does, like this is just a day's work."

"Well it is a day's work for _him_!" another soldier noted. 'He's a Warden!"

"Even so, awful as some of those jokes are…they're cheering, you know? You got to figure if things were really bad, he'd be too busy to carry on like that."

"Huh. You may have a point."

"He had a talk with us before we went out. Spoke of that thing the darkspawn do, the way they vanish and reappear out of thin air? Uncanny, that was. Well, he said as it wasn't so uncanny as all that, that he and the Prince and his crew had fought rogues who could do it as well-humans and elves and dwarves. When he put it that way, it just wasn't quite so frightening, you know? He's got a way with him."

"Think he might have made a good king?"

"Might have. But who in their right mind would want to rule Ferelden _now_?" A snort of agreement from the other man. "Besides, I can't blame Her Majesty for not wanting to marry her late husband's brother. That's a little creepy, that is. Isn't there scripture about it?"

"I'm not sure. Guess we could ask a mother sometime." The conversation turned to the cook's execrable cooking and Anora, armored and swathed in her hooded cloak, moved on unnoticed. Morrigan was taking a well-deserved rest from her aerial scouting missions and the Queen thought it might be her only chance to speak to her…rival?…in privacy.

* * *

><p>The wilder witch's tent was on the verge of the encampment. There was a pot over the fire, but the scent was medicinal, not culinary, and she had a complicated apparatus of tubes and vials and filters set up. The scent of elfroot clued Anora in as to what was going on. Pooka lay nearby and lifted his head as she approached, tail thumping.<p>

"Aren't you worried about being so close to the edge of the camp?" Anora asked without preamble as she approached. Morrigan had never accorded her the courtesy her rank usually demanded, so she had no compunction about being forthright herself. It seemed to be the right thing to do. Morrigan simply lifted an eyebrow at her approach and nodded her head towards Pooka.

"Not with _him_ here. And not even without, to tell the truth. The darkspawn are just as like to materialize in the center of camp as the fringes, and I don't like people much. Besides, I've learned a few tricks from my mother's grimoires about repelling darkspawn. This is probably the safest place in the camp." Her hand gestured to the odd assortment of cushions, probably scavenged from any number of places in her travels. "Sit, if you will." Anora dropped down onto a brocade cushion that had seen better days.

"What brings you here, Your Majesty?"

"I wished to speak with you. To thank you for all the scouting you have been doing. Fergus says your work has been invaluable."

"You are welcome."

Despite her words, Morrigan's expression did not change overmuch; nonetheless, Anora got the distinct impression she was pleased. She did something to what looked like a glass valve and fluid began to drip into a waiting bottle. The Queen stared at the apparatus curiously.

"Are you brewing these for the hospital tent?"

"No. Wynne can take care of that if she likes. These are for Corin to use on the last assault when he gets here. Our potion stores have been somewhat depleted over the last bit and I'm the one who takes care of that."

"He must rely upon you a great deal."

"I was the first person who joined him, so yes, I suppose that he does." The golden eyes lifted from her distilling, played over Anora's form for a moment, then hooded again. "Has Wynne bothered to tell you that you are with child yet?"

"I…uh, yes, she has."

"Good. I am glad, by the way."

"You _are_?"

"That there will be something left of him, if things go badly." The golden eyes lifted once more. "You should know. I slept with Corin at Redcliffe. It took a deal of convincing on my part, but he conceded in the end."

"I gave him a dispensation to do so. I thought that he might want to," Anora said steadily, though a cold weight had settled in her stomach.

Surprise flitted briefly over Morrigan's face. "That is…generous of you."

"I know that he loves you. He admitted as much to me during our…negotiations. Ours is a political arrangement, though certainly a cordial one. It seemed best to be generous, as you put it."

The witch's eyes bored into hers of a sudden. "You are becoming attached to him already, I see. It is understandable; he is handsome and charming and full-witted for a man. Do not let what the two of us shared in the past hold you back. I _will_ be gone when the battle is over. I do not intend to ever see him again."

Anora's brow furrowed and her tone sharpened, as it tended to do when she knew people were hiding something from her. "_This_ is what I do not understand. You broke off with Corin because, he says, of his inability to keep the relationship a casual one. You say you intend never to see him again. Then why go to all the trouble you say you had to go to to coax him into your bed at Redcliffe?"

"There were a couple of reasons for that. One of them Corin may tell to you himself, should he survive the battle. As for the other…yes, I will admit it. I wanted to be with him one last time."

The witch's eyes looked oddly bright in the firelight. "_You _are in love with _him_ as well!" Anora breathed in sudden realization. Morrigan did not try to deny it.

"It should not have happened. There was never any future in it.," she muttered. "But it did, and I will pay the price for it without complaint. Love is not a thing apostates should indulge in."

"But why did you not speak to him? From what little he told me, he believed his affections were not returned. It could have changed everything, Morrigan. He might have stayed a Warden, encouraged Alistair to take the throne. You could have had him!" _And I would not, would have had to wed Alistair. But he would have been happy…_

"Could I have?" the witch's voice was firmer, cooler now. She seemed to have recovered herself. "As a Warden, he would have been under Weisshaupt's orders to go where they directed. As an apostate, it might very well have been that I could not follow him to some of those places safely. I am not one to sit in the cottage tending the home fires while my man moves events in the world. I would have gone with him, fought at his side. What do you think would happen to him were I Tainted and died or Tainted and failed the Joining?"

"And what if you weren't ever Tainted? You haven't been to date and you have been fighting darkspawn for over a year! This seems a coward's argument to me, Morrigan."

The witch ignored the slur, except for one lifted eyebrow. "What would have happened if the Chantry, as is much more likely, took exception to my presence and tried to capture me? In places other than Ferelden, it is much more zealous and powerful. Do you not think Corin would have defended me? What would have happened to him then?"

"The two of you could simply have gone off together. Lived in your Wilds peacefully."

"Could we have?" Morrigan's mouth turned up in a rare, genuinely amused smile at that idea. "Corin takes his oaths, even those given under duress, seriously. Can you honestly imagine him, the ultimate political animal, as a _hunter_? Trapper? Charcoal burner? Woodcutter? Please! He'd have been crawling the cabin walls within a week's time."

"You do have a point there," Anora was forced to concede.

"Corin was born and bred and trained to rule from the time he was in swaddling clothes. Governance is his first, best destiny. Besides, even if he didn't take the throne, he would never have turned his back on Highever. He did not know that Fergus still lived. And there is no way an apostate mage could have been the teyrna of Highever. And I would not have been his mistress, even where he to ask me to, which he would not."

"Why are you so determined to find reasons why the two of you could not have been together? It is very odd."

"Is it?" Morrigan shrugged. "I suppose it may well be, though I would have thought _you _would have been _relieved _that I was thinking thusly. As I told you, I don't like people much and I've not spent much time among them. I suppose I prefer not to think upon the possibility that I could have had him because it makes losing him easier to bear. And ultimately, the cowardice or stupidity of all those arguments pales before the unassailable one-my mother."

"Your _mother_?"

"Yes. Flemeth. _The_ Flemeth. The Witch of the Wilds. Centuries old, extremely powerful and pretty much immortal."

"But Alistair said that he and Corin had fought your mother and killed her."

"They killed her body. I would be very surprised if she were in fact actually dead. One of her grimoires that we found in the Circle Tower explained that she extended her life span by having 'daughters' whom she raised and then possessed when her own body grew too old. I was to be her next victim."

Anora was astonished and more than a little repelled. "Is that blood magic?"

"Possibly it bears some relationship, though I suspect it is far above the crudities that demons impart to their mage minions. Flemeth has had hundreds of years to perfect her magic after all."

"But how could she do that to her blood kin?"

"There is some question as to whether I _am _her blood kin. I do remember her being younger when I was small, young enough to bear a child. And if it is blood magic, than it would make sense that daughters of her own bloodline would be required." Her expression turned momentarily sour. "Certainly, _Alistair_ thought there was a family resemblance! But it is equally likely that she steals likely-looking girl children with mage gift when she needs a new host. In any event, an entity that has survived for so many centuries undoubtedly has contingency plans laid."

"And you worry that she will seek you out?"

"I _know_ that she will seek me out. It is inevitable. And I do not want Corin anywhere near me when that happens."

"I…see."

Another of those amused smiles. "Do you? I seriously doubt you comprehend the full horror of my situation. But in any event, you need not worry about any competition from me." The wilder witch's beautiful face became contemplative. "Corin is an…honorable man. I never thought much of honorable people, to be honest. I thought they were deluded about life's realities, in service to a code that benefited them personally very little. I understand it a bit differently now. He is not Cailan. He has sworn to you and he will hold to that oath, providing you hold to yours. I told you once that he would make you happy if you would only let him. I still believe that. He has told me that he would try his best to love you and that he thought it would not be difficult to do so."

Anora felt conflicting emotions upon hearing that-indignation and hope. _Try to love me? __**Try**__? At least he did not think it would be hard to do so. That is something, I guess, and better than I had expected, in truth._ She changed the subject.

"So why did you have to _coax_ him into your bed at Redcliffe? I would have thought he'd be eager to come back to you."

Morrigan rose to swing the pot of elf root away from the fire, then sat back down, turned the valve, corked the now-full bottle, set a new one beneath the tube and opened the valve again. "Because I'd never told him I loved him until then. I knew that it would only complicate our parting. But I told him that night because I had to, if I wished to have him in my bed. And I did. Corin would not betray his oath to you for a mere tumble. As I said, he is not that sort of man."

That was certainly gratifying on some level. Anora eyed her rival curiously.

"Why are you telling me all this?

Another shrug. "Because you wanted to know? We are neither of us _normal_ women. I do not understand the cattiness and inclination to gossip any better than you do. We are both thinking, reasoning beings. I will own, I have been worried that you would find a way to do away with Corin once the Blight was over so that you could rule alone. I do not wish for that to happen."

"I…would not do that," Anora said, struggling to suppress her indignation. Morrigan was simply being honest and direct and Anora could respect that. "My word means something to me as well and my family has done enough harm to Ferelden for one generation. Ferelden will be better off with Corin and I ruling together than me ruling alone. If he survives the Archdemon, then he will be my king. I swear it."

"You would swear an oath to a Witch of the Wilds?" Morrigan's laugh had an unsettling timbre to it. "There _is_ some courage in you, Anora Mac Tir! Very well then-I cede the field to you, Your Majesty. Take care of Corin. Try to make him happy, live your lives together. Do the love thing, whatever that means. I've never been very good at that." Her attention was now focused firmly on her work and there was dismissal in her tone.

"I think you might be better at it than you know," Anora said softly, then rose and left the witch's camp.

* * *

><p>"Does anyone besides me think the Archdemon is squatting in Denerim so it can go "Nyah, nyah, Grey Wardens! Come and get me!" Alistair inquired of his fellow Wardens as they conferred privately in Alistair and Cauthrien's tent one evening. "I mean-why is it just <em>sitting <em>there? Why doesn't it keep going up to Amaranthine, pillaging and grabbing brood-mothers as it goes? It's certainly been in a hurry up to this point."

"Perhaps it's because it has come up on a coast?" Cauthrien suggested, taking a drink of her ale with a meditative expression on her face. She and Alistair were sitting on their cots while Riordan, who had finally returned from his scouting, had pulled a camp stool into the tent. "I know the dwarves say that the Deep Roads go everywhere, but perhaps they don't go under the ocean here. We also don't know how much volition the Archdemon really has, even though it's the one supposedly directing things. For all that we've been told the darkspawn are mindless, we've met some that seem to be capable of thinking tactically and strategically-emissaries of any variety, the alphas…That odd darkspawn you met at Ostagar, Alistair, certainly seemed to possess a high degree of cunning from the way you described its behavior."

"That necromancer thing? It was damned annoying, if you must know. Kept conjuring things and leading us a merry chase up hill and down dale. Literally."

Riordan lifted an eyebrow. "You really ought to write down everything you remember about your encounter with that creature, Alistair, if you haven't already. I would suggest tonight. I'll put it with the Grey Warden papers. I've never heard of a darkspawn like that and all such derivations should be recorded, so that our future brethren may recognize them."

"Of course, Senior Warden. Have _you_ read anything in the Warden archives about what motivates an Archdemon?"

Riordan turned his tankard around in his hands, his expression distant. "There are theories. The basic motivation seems of course to be to create as much devastation in the shortest time possible, to create as many brood mothers as it can and cover the world in darkness. But it is true that on the occasions an Archdemon has been brought to final battle, it hasn't always chosen the ground particularly well. What exactly are you inferring, Alistair?"

"It just occurred to me…and I know this is probably silly, but bear with me…that it used to be an Old God and maybe it remembers being an Old God and part of it would rather be destroyed than continue to live a Tainted existence. I mean, let's face it-none of _us _are particularly enthused about the Calling, are we? Why couldn't the Archdemon be unhappy about being an Archdemon?" Neither of his fellow Wardens were laughing outright, though they were regarding him with surprise over the rims of their tankards, so he continued.

"We're told that the Old Gods led men to worship them and convinced them to invade the Golden City and that the Maker threw those men down and they became the darkspawn, our punishment. And he buried the Old Gods beneath the earth, where the darkspawn could find them and Taint them. I think being an Archdemon is part of an Old God's punishment and it probably wouldn't mind if that punishment were cut short."

"It's an interesting idea," Riordan said. "You really think that the Archdemon is delaying moving further _intentionally_, giving Corin a chance to catch us up and give us the best chance of putting it out of its misery? Then why would it fight at all?"

"Maybe it only has limited volition. Maybe there are only a few times when the Taint isn't clouding its mind. Maybe it has a part to play that it can't escape. But this Archdemon, at least, has only shown up very recently. We've had lots of darkspawn, but no dragon until the march on Denerim."

"Alistair, most Blights last for years." Riordan's voice was gentle. "The First Blight lasted a couple of _hundred_ years. This one has just begun. We can hardly say that the Archdemon is coming in on the end of things and we will be the most fortunate Wardens in history if we can end it here at Denerim after barely more than a year."

"I figured it was probably a silly idea," Alistair said morosely. "I just thought I'd mention it."

"Someone…once told me," Cauthrien said with a sidelong look at Alistair that left no doubt about who she was referring so obliquely to, "that when you had eliminated all other possibilities, the one that remained, no matter how unlikely, must be the truth. What you propose is not outside the realm of possibility."

"Indeed, you should record your theory for the archives, along with the description of this 'necromancer' darkspawn," came Riordan's firm command. At Alistair's look of surprise, he added, "We are the only Wardens here. Our observations will be invaluable to future generations of Wardens-as well as our current brethren in other countries. It's good that you're thinking like this, considering possibilities. We can't get any answers without asking questions."

Alistair shrugged. "Deep thinking is usually Corin's department. I guess I just miss him. It's not my usual sort of thing, figuring things out."

Cauthrien shook her head and clinked her tankard against his. "You don't give yourself enough credit, brother."

Riordan's tankard clanked from the other side. "I've noticed that about you as well, Alistair. You should work on that."

* * *

><p>Duty could always be counted on to drive a Cousland when mere strength of will failed. Fergus knew that for a fact and was grateful that there was duty a-plenty in the days when his brother was gone. Commands to be given and written out, supply lines to be seen to, fractious banns to be won over with courteous words and flattery…there was no end to it. Alfstanna and Anora had taken to tag-teaming, seeing that he was fed and threatening to forcibly tip him into a bed when he'd been too long on his feet. The days passed in a busy blur of meetings and occasional brief battle. He'd not had any chance at all to investigate the plight of the refugees-he simply had to hope that they were fed, sheltered and out of reach. The army took all of his time.<p>

Finally, on the eighth day since his brother's departure from Redcliffe, the wilder witch found him coming out of a late morning strategy session with his captains and the Grey Wardens.

"Corin will be at Denerim tomorrow, so you may wish to be there as well, my lord teyrn-general," was all she said, before turning on her heel and striding back to her own tent. _A prickly woman, but damned useful, _Fergus reflected, and since he wasn't exactly overrun with shape-changing apostate mages who could do aerial reconnaissance for him, he figured he could live without the usual courtesies due to one of his rank.

But…her news meant that it was finally time to get the army on the march once more and that meant that his work-load had just tripled. Fergus immediately began barking orders to the captains still within earshot and sending message-elves to the ones who'd already left. He spent the next couple of hours in a whirl of frenetic activity, as if he could force the huge, somnolent beast that was the Fereledan army into motion through sheer force of will. It was two hours past noon before he could find the time to eat lunch and that was at Anora's insistence. And no sooner had he sat down to do so then there was the sound of hooves coming through the camp and approaching his tent. The sentry at the door ducked his head in.

"It's those men you sent to Highever, my lord teyrn," he said. "Will you see them now, or do you want me to tell them to rest and refresh a bit?"

"By all means, let them get some food first." _And let me finish my blighted lunch in peace for once!_ "There's nothing they can tell me I can do anything about right now, so they may as well get comfortable. They made good time."

"Yes, my lord." The man went back out. Fergus wondered about the swiftness of Rikard and company's return. It would not have taken long to determine that Highever was held in force. He found that possibility more likely than that the people had somehow thrown off Howe's hold in Fergus's absence.

Anora ducked back into the tent. "Maker's breath, 'Nora, I'm _eating_! See?" Then he paused, shocked, for there were _tears_ on 'Nora's face and you _never_ saw that. Not even when her father had been slain right before her eyes.

"Fergus Cousland, you get out here _right now_!" she snapped, and his heart plummeted down into his boots Whatever could have happened? Had Rikard and the others been injured? Then why had the sentry not said so?

His blood running cold, Fergus left his lunch and followed her out into the sunlight and froze where he stood, for though he didn't see Captain Rikard, there were Coulter and the rest of them, safe and sound. They were standing holding their reins while a knight whose flaming head he'd never thought to see again was helping someone down from an ugly old red-roan warhorse he knew very well and had never thought to see alive again either. And he knew now why Anora was weeping because tears were pouring down his face as well; in fact he was bawling like the baby he'd once been and didn't care, as he ran to Beauvisage's side and swept Eleanor Cousland, her hair gone totally silver, up into his arms.


	32. Chapter 32

I was determined to get things rolling with the battle this chapter, and I did, sort of. Eleanor had to make up for some lost time first. Thanks to valin, spectre4hire, borismortys, Paragon of Awesomeness, JadeOokami, JordanMatthias, none, pauljr, mille libri, Suilven, xseikax, Anonymous Random Person, LunaMoth116, Mike3207, ByLanternLight, owl208, MrPowell, lazyguy90, animevideogamefreak, Marvey4, Capito Celcior, Ronin Kenshin, Nightbrainzz, Albericus, and karthik 9 for all the lovely words and encouragement. I am absolutely chuffed, and I'm not even English!

* * *

><p>"Bryce did not survive much beyond Corin's departure," Eleanor told Fergus in his tent a short while later, a shadow falling over her fine-boned face. Lunch had been brought for the dowager teyrna and her escort, who were all eating outside. Anora was present as well, but she seemed disinclined to converse and listened intently. "We had time to make our good-byes, and I was still determined to cover Corin and Duncan's escape, when he said, 'Ellie, what will become of our people, with both our boys gone? Who will help to shelter them from Howe's brutality?' It was then that I realized I had a more important job to do than buying Corin time."<p>

"As for me," Roland Gilmore interjected, "I was determined to hold the gate for as long as I could. But then Sergeant Vorlans showed up with some more men to reinforce us. 'What are you doing here, Ser Gilmore?' he asked me. 'Don't you think someone had best see to covering the family's escape? Do you imagine that they can fight through Howe's lines _all by themselves_? Get your arse to the kitchen!' So I did so, and found the teyrna. We escaped through the secret passage and fortunately for us, though not for the sergeant and his men." Gilmore bowed his head for a moment. "Maker keep him, the sergeant saved my life. Howe's men had finally broken down the gate and were pouring into the keep. So they missed us when we made our way outside."

"I knew that Corin and Duncan had gone south, but as we had work to do in the teyrnir, Ser Gilmore and I worked our way west and went to ground with sympathizers," the teyrna continued, giving the young knight a fond smile. "Roland was more than patient with me and very clever about finding us food and shelter."

"I guess growing up a country boy stood me in good stead, my lady."

"Your service will not be forgotten nor go unrewarded, Roland," Fergus declared, but the knight shook his head.

"It was simply my duty, my lord, nothing more."

"That may be the case, but I have no doubt you exceeded your duty as you always did."

The knight looked as if he would dispute matters further, but Eleanor laid a hand upon his arm and shook her head.

"I know that you have an army to get on the move, Fergus, so I'll save a more detailed account for later while we march," she then told her oldest son. "The gist of things is that we spent the better part of last year in hiding, organizing a resistance to Howe's governor. Which wasn't hard to do, given that the man was a money-grubbing tyrant and determined to put Highever down into what he considered was its subordinate, servile place." Her eyes narrowed and lips thinned. "We didn't have the forces to siege him in the keep itself however, so we staged an uprising in Brightwell. When he marched out to quell it, we ambushed him and killed him and all his men, then took the castle and town back. But that did not happen until we'd gotten word that Howe had been killed, so it was a fairly recent occurrence. Rikard is governing the teyrnir in my absence."

Fergus shook his head in wonder. "It must have been quite the year for you as well, Mother."

"When we heard word of what had happened at Ostagar…" that shadow fell over Eleanor's face again. "I thought that both of my boys were dead. That was the darkest time. It was very difficult to go on." Fergus draped an arm around her and gave her a hug. She looked up at him and smiled, stroking his cheek with her hand for a moment.

"You would not have known it from the way the Teyrna carried herself," Roland said proudly. "She was an inspiration to our people. She gave us hope. Then we began to hear rumors that some of the Grey Wardens had survived Ostagar. We hoped that one of them might be Lord Corin. When the news about Howe's death came to us, it confirmed that it was the last Cousland who had killed him. That was a happy day for us, I will say!"

"We toasted Corin's health in some elderberry wine," Eleanor remarked. "Rather a _lot _of elderberry wine for some of us." Her eyes were twinkling and the red-headed knight blushed a bit. Then she sobered. "But I still thought _you_ had perished, Fergus. And look at your poor face! What happened to you?"

Fergus shrugged, tracing the scar with a finger. "I can't say that it did all that much damage. Some might even consider it an improvement." His mother favored him with a very Corin-like eyebrow, and he grinned. "The short version is that Howe sent some mercenaries to ambush me and my men in the Wilds. Rikard and the others were the only ones who escaped with me. I was sorely wounded. A couple of days previous, we had encountered a Chasind hunting party being attacked by darkspawn. We'd helped them out and it turned out that one of the hunters we saved was the son of the local chieftain. Rikard stumbled across their camp by accident and they took us all in, in repayment of what they considered to be a blood-debt. And there I stayed, for the better part of a year. Didn't remember who I was at first, was totally off my head. Rikard and the men helped with the hunting and such while I was convalescing." Fergus gave his mother another squeeze. "Maker, I don't want to let you out of my sight, Mother, but I really have to get us on the move."

"I quite understand. I want to see Corin too. You go do what you must and I'll come with you when you're ready to go."

"Just so long as you and Anora stay well away from the battlefield."

"Fergus Leonas Cousland, what do you think I've been doing for the last year? _Knitting_?"

"I know you've been fighting, Mother. But I couldn't bear it if I lost you again after just getting you back."

Eleanor's expression softened. "I understand that, Fergus. How do you think _I _feel about sending _both_ you and Corin off to battle? But I promise, I will stay with Anora."

Fergus' relief was plainly visible. "Thank you, Mother." His brow furrowed as if an idea had occurred to him and he went over to the trunk at the foot of his cot, opened it and pulled out some bundled parchment. Returning to Eleanor, he presented the bundle to her. "I'm going to have to go back out and oversee things, but while I do, you may as well read this. Corin wrote this to me right before the Landsmeet and it pretty much tells everything he's been up to. I'm sure he'd like you to read it. And I actually think you should-it will give you some insight into his state of mind."

Eleanor accepted the letter with a quizzical look, setting it beside her plate at the table. "Thank you. I'll do that right away." She took a chunk of bread, put a thick slice of cheese on it and presented it to her son, along with his tankard of cider. "Take this with you if you're leaving, Fergus-you've not eaten a thing!" she commanded. An oddly contented smile blossomed on Fergus' craggy face.

"Yes, Mother. Anything you say, Mother." Then he ducked out of the tent.

* * *

><p>Left alone, the two women regarded one another silently for a moment. Then Anora rose and came around to Eleanor's chair, embracing her.<p>

"I am _so_ glad that you are back, Eleanor! I prayed to the Maker to keep your soul, but I _never_ imagined that He would be so generous as to give you back to us!"

The teyrna reached up and embraced her young friend in turn. "It is very good to see you as well, Your Majesty. My condolences for _your_ losses. It's been a hard year for people other than the Couslands, it would seem."

To her annoyance, Anora found herself blinking back sudden tears. "That it has." They released each other. Anora seated herself in Fergus' vacant chair and Eleanor turned the letter over in her hands for a few moments, before lifting her head and fixing Anora with an interrogative stare.

"Aren't you a little _old_ for him?"

Anora grimaced. "I know that I am. But Corin propositioned me, not the other way around, and he's been confirmed by the Landsmeet as Crown Prince. _Unanimously_, Eleanor, which should tell you something about the respect the lords have for him. This is not the time to rock the boat and besides…" her fair-complexioned face grew visibly pink. "It's a little late to change our minds now."

"What do you mean?"

"I am…with child. It is very early and I do not wish to announce it. Mere days along. I did not know myself, until one of the mages here in camp who is a healer told me. And another mage confirmed it. So it would seem that, Maker willing, you will be a grandmother again next year."

Eleanor bowed her head and closed her eyes for a moment. "'The Maker giveth and the Maker taketh away,'" she said at last, looking over at the Queen. "This must be such a relief for you, Anora."

"Yes and no," Anora admitted, glad to finally have someone she trusted to talk to. "I was very happy at first, but I've been thinking. I am glad that I am able to get pregnant, but given that it took a mage to detect it, how am I to know that this hasn't happened before? I could have conceived numerous times and lost the child in the first month or so. Perhaps the problem isn't that I can't conceive, but that I can't _bear_ a child."

Eleanor snorted. "I suppose it's possible, but I don't think it that likely. You must think positive thoughts. I'd certainly like to give that mage a piece of my mind for worrying you so!"

Anora smiled at the mental image of Wynne and Eleanor exchanging pieces of their minds. She rather thought the smart money was on the teyrna. "The only reason she did tell me was so that I would be careful and not exert myself. She didn't think it was wise for me to be riding everywhere."

"That is probably true," Eleanor said grudgingly. She tapped the letter. "What was all that business about Corin's state of mind that Fergus referred to? What's happened to my boy?"

"Honestly, I am not the one to ask. The first time I met Corin was in Denerim. But Fergus says that he's changed a lot-beyond getting a lot taller. He says that he's a lot harder, colder even. Because of the massacre, to be sure, but also because of the things he's had to do in the last year. You may not believe some of the things in the letter, Eleanor, but they're all true. For instance-he did go down to Ostagar with three others, find Cailan's body, fight a bunch of darkspawn that were wearing pieces of his armor, retrieve that and Maric's sword and give Cailan a proper pyre. He had the armor cleansed of the Taint and cleaned and polished, and brought it and the sword and Cailan's ashes back to me."

"Did you ask him to do that?"

"Maker, no! He just decided that it needed to be done and did it. I was very grateful. When I decided to accept his proposal, I gave him the armor and sword. He wears the armor, but has a sword he likes better."

"A sword he likes better than the _king's_ sword? That must be some blade."

Anora grimaced. "He says she's my only rival. A star-metal blade he calls Starfang."

"I see I'd best get down to reading this." Anora started to rise from her chair, but was halted by Eleanor's hand on her arm. "Stay, please? If you've not got things to do, that is. I miss Oriana and I cannot tell you what a comfort it is to know I have a daughter again. Particularly one who was so dear to me already."

* * *

><p>The army was a hive of frenetic activity, breaking camp and preparing to move out and the news that the Teyrna of Highever had returned from the dead added another whole layer of buzz to the mix. Corin's companions were hardly immune.<p>

"The Warden's mum showed up, did she?" Oghren hiccupped. "And killed all of Howe's men? Guess _she's_ where he gets the bad-ass from."

"It _would_ seem that its tendency to avoid squishing is inherited after all," mused Shale. "I thought as much."

"That is wonderful news!" Ser Cauthrien said. "Not only for the Prince's sake, but for the Queen's. The teyrna was one of the Queen's good friends and I know that she has grieved for her."

"I do not pretend to understand your _families_ and _parents_ and such," Sten rumbled, his brow furrowed. "Since you do not have _tamassrans_ like sensible people. But I gather that this is a good thing?"

"A very good thing, Sten," Wynne responded. "Probably the best thing that could have happened to Corin, given that he's facing the Archdemon soon. And the rest of you as well, of course," she added, looking at Alistair and Cauthrien and Riordan. The Senior Warden of Jader cocked an eyebrow at her, but Cauthrien did not deign to respond.

_Great. More Grey Warden sacrifice preach_, Alistair thought a bit uncharitably. _Wynne just never lets it rest._ _Always has to rub our noses in the fact that we're probably going to die. _He got on better with the Senior Enchanter than Corin did, at least in part because she lusted after him-and wasn't that creepy? But even he tired of the incessant advice. Fondling Pooka's ears, he held his tongue.

Pooka had already found the teyrna in his camp wanderings. Refraining from knocking her over as he had done to Fergus, he'd nonetheless licked Eleanor's face until she begged for mercy-and a towel and soap and a washbasin. So he was very pleased with the way things stood.

Morrigan was nowhere to be found and therefore her opinion upon the matter was unknown.

* * *

><p>The army was going to march even after darkness fell, until it was outside Denerim. There was some risk, given that the darkspawn preferred darkness, but Fergus deemed it worthwhile, and at least everyone would be awake and with weapons in their hands. He knew what an extraordinary effort Corin and the allies had made to come so far so fast on foot and compared to that, going without sleep for one night seemed of little import. His troops seemed to be in agreement with him, moving silently and with greater efficiency and fewer complaints than usual.<p>

The mood of those marching to Denerim was mixed, comprised of both trepidation and hope. Many of the host had loved ones to avenge, and those who did not had loved ones they sought to protect. Everyone understood that they were engaging in one last desperate throw of the die. If the Archdemon was slain in Denerim, then the Blight was over. If the armies that had been gathered together were insufficient to the task, then Ferelden as they knew it was finished.

Occasional halts did occur, as there were mishaps with supply wagons or Fergus declared a pause to consult with scouts as to the best way to proceed. Upon one such halt, Alistair mustered his courage and approached the Queen's carriage. The lamps within were lit, and the hour was not that late, so he felt reasonably sure he was not waking anyone as he rapped softly on the door. The curtain was pulled aside when he did so, and he saw Erlina stare down at him for a moment, then drop it once more. There was a brief, muffled conversation within the carriage, then the door opened. Anora's voice sounded.

"Do come up, Alistair. Is everything all right? Did Fergus send you?"

He pulled himself up into the coach, seating himself carefully on the backward-facing seat with a creak of armor, since standing was out of the question. Erlina was beside him and Anora and Corin's mother sat facing him.

"No, Your Majesty. There's a wagon stuck up ahead, that's why we stopped. They're trying to lever it out of the hole now. To be honest, I hadn't had the chance to meet the teyrna yet, and I very much wanted to. I am sorry if I intruded."

"You did not," Anora assured him.

He'd always thought of Corin's smile as a Cousland one, but there was an echo of it in Teyrna Eleanor's. "I was wondering when _I_ would have a chance to meet _you_," she said cheerfully. She crooked her finger at him and when he obligingly leaned forward, took his face between warm, bow- and sword-callused hands.

"You've got Maric's stamp on you all right," she said. "What a _handsome_ young man you are!" The young Grey Warden found himself blushing and hoped it wouldn't be noticed by lamplight. "Anora, have you arranged anything for him yet?"

The Queen _had_ noticed and seemed to be enjoying herself greatly, Alistair noted. There was a gleam of amusement in her eye as she said, "Corin and I have been trying to bring him around to the idea, Eleanor. I'm sure we'll succeed in time."

Eleanor released Alistair and sat back. "I read Corin's letter to Fergus this afternoon. He says such glowing things about you! I just wanted to thank you for being such a good friend to my son when he needed one," she said sincerely.

Alistair had never known his mother, had gotten by with the fond attentions of various motherly servants at Redcliffe and had for the most part not missed her, since she had died when he was an infant. But now, confronted with Eleanor Cousland's warmth and charm, he began to have an inkling of what it was that Corin had once possessed and lost, and why what had happened in the kitchen that night at Highever had ripped the heart out of him. _I can't __**wait**__ for us to get to Denerim, so that he can see her! _

Leaning forward, he folded her hands between his larger ones, brought them to his lips and kissed them. "And I wanted to thank _you_ for having a son who has been such a good friend to _me, _my lady," he said, and it was Eleanor's turn to blush.

* * *

><p>The allies were making camp for the night when Morrigan returned, transforming in the forest close by, then striding into the camp. Finding Leliana and Zevran, she asked, "Is Corin awake yet?" The bard nodded.<p>

"He went down to the stream to wash up a bit," she said, gesturing off down a slope. "Said it would help him to wake up."

_Good, _the Wilder Witch thought. _This is news best given to him alone._

"Thank you, Leliana," she said with as much courtesy as she could muster and set off in pursuit. The bard and the assassin looked at each other.

"Morrigan seemed a bit curt, even for her. I do hope it's not bad news," Zevran said. The two rogues looked at each other, then moved to station themselves nearer the stream, preventing any interruption.

* * *

><p>"Fergus is marching now, and will continue through the night. He is headed for the agreed upon rendezvous point-that old watch tower. He estimates that they will arrive sometime in the small hours of the morning," Morrigan said. She had found Corin down by the stream, in arming breeches, boots and his shirt, splashing water over his head and face. Despite having just risen from sleep, his face looked drawn and tired. Even so, he looked much fresher than most of his allies, particularly the Circle mages. <em>That Grey Warden stamina stands him in good stead once again.<em>

"Thank you, Morrigan," he said, that touch of formality in his voice as it had been in all their dealings since the night of the ritual. "So if we march at dawn, they'll be waiting for us?"

'That is correct."

Corin nodded. "Very well then. Tomorrow will see things done, one way or another." His voice was very soft.

"There is something else. I did not want to tell you at first, as I believe Fergus and the rest intend to surprise you. But then it occurred to me that I did not know if it would be a good surprise or a bad surprise, so I thought it best to forego surprise altogether."

"And this surprise is?" Corin's eyebrow arched.

"Do you recollect that your brother sent Captain Rickard and his men to Highever?"

"Yes…" Her former lover looked wary now, as if bracing himself.

"They found that Highever was back in Cousland hands. Your _mother's_ hands, to be exact."

His face went curiously blank for a moment, and still. Then he said harshly, "That is not possible."

"Actually, it is. Your mother left Rickard in command of Highever and rode to join Fergus. I've seen her with my own eyes, Corin. Her and that knight I've overheard you talking about once or twice. The red-headed one? Gilligan, was it?"

"Gilmore." Though the light was fading under the trees, there was still enough to see how the color had drained from his face.

"Ser Gilmore apparently got her out of the keep after you left and your father died. She's been commanding the resistance in Highever ever since. When word reached her that you'd killed Howe, she moved on his lieutenant and defeated him and his men at some place called Brightwell."

Even shocked as he was, Corin's mind was still working. He nodded. "Brightwell, yes. I know the place. There's that cut on the way into town…I'd have used it too…" He looked at Morrigan, his expression suddenly miserable. "Maker, but she must be angry at me!"

"For what? For doing _exactly_ what she told you to do?" Morrigan scoffed. "At times like these, I remember how young you really are." The misery on Corin's face was quickly replaced by affront. "Fergus gave her your letter to read and I listened in cat-form sitting close to the tent as she and Anora talked afterwards. She's not angry at you for leaving her behind, Corin-she's _worried_ about how her commanding you to do so has hurt you over the last year! She's marching with Fergus because she wants to see you more than anything. And she'll be waiting for you in the morning."

_Your mother is __**alive **__and will be waiting for you in the morning. _Morrigan watched as it sank in, became reality.

"Thank you, Morrigan. You were right to tell me. I don't think I would have cared for being surprised by something like that." Corin's voice was absolutely, frighteningly calm. He turned his back to her, walked several steps up the stream bank, then dropped suddenly to his knees. She didn't see him break, but she heard it; the harsh, racking sobs as he let a year's worth of guilt and regret go. And it left her in something of a quandary, for she knew that she would not want anyone to see _her _in such a state.

_But I am not Corin and though he is a private person as well, he is less careful about such things. _Part of her yearned to go to him and offer comfort. The other part was scornful. _To what end? To make matters worse, more painful for yourself? You have bidden him farewell, __**let it go**__! He is no longer your responsibility, if indeed he ever was._

Since she usually paid more heed to the harsher side of her nature than the softer, Morrigan was actually surprised to find herself walking towards him and kneeling at his side. The merest tentative touch of a hand to his shoulder as enough to make Corin turn to her, wrapping his arms about her in a crushing embrace as he wept against her silverite-clad shoulder. And somehow that was all right; cradling that strong, warm weight against her, stroking her hand through the sable hair, murmuring comforting words that would have embarrassed her immensely had she been in her right mind. But she wasn't in her right mind, or she wouldn't have felt her own eyes prickling and beginning to leak. Whether it was regret for her own mother or sorrow at losing Corin or both or something else entirely, she could not tell. And somehow it did not seem to matter, as the dark closed down around them both.

* * *

><p>A messenger from Eamon hailed Corin as they climbed up the bank afterwards, having spent some time with the cold stream water to insure that their faces were in order, and he parted from her with one last grateful, loving look. She found the assassin waiting at the top, that infuriating smirk of his on his face.<p>

"Leliana and I feared that you had brought bad news. Is that so?" he asked. Which implied that he'd not spied on them after all, as Morrigan had first thought. Or implied that he didn't _want _her to know he'd spied on them, which was more likely. Even she could not detect Zevran when he was stretching his stealth abilities to the utmost.

"It was good news," she said brusquely. "Corin's mother is alive after all."

"Maker be praised! That _is_ good news. And it is good that you let him know. It must have been quite the shock."

"It was." She gave him a supercilious glare. "_Not_ that I care one whit for your approval, elf. I would still just as soon stick a knife in your face as look at you."

Zevran shrugged. "That goes without saying, oh beauteous one. But thank you anyway. Leliana and I have been sending people upstream for water for the last half hour so that no one would intrude." If he expected her to thank him in turn, he was doomed to disappointment. Morrigan stalked off without any further acknowledgment of the elf's existence, only to have his irritatingly cheerful voice call after her, "The Dalish are roasting a deer, Morrigan, if you tire of ripping the flesh raw off of your prey."

* * *

><p>The allies set out soon after dawn. They stepped out briskly under a clouded, lowering sky, knowing that the journey was almost over, and a couple of hours later, scouts from the Ferelden army contacted them, leading them up into the hills and under the trees where camp had already been made.<p>

Eleanor Cousland watched them all come; Eamon, Teagan, an elderly man in robes who must be the First Enchanter, an elven woman with a tattoed face, a dwarf in black armor, also with facial tattoos. A darkly beautiful woman in silverite armor whom Eleanor had seen about Fergus' camp was there, as well as another lovely red-headed woman in leathers, and yet another tattoed elf, a male this time with the tanned skin common to northern climes. And in the midst of them was the tall, powerful young man in the gilded dragonbone, whose facial features were an echo of her late, beloved husband.

_Fergus was right! He's even bigger than he was. He's grown half a head in the last year and broadened with it too. _Corin's self-assured, confident, _kingly_ mien told her that the charming, personable boy from before that tragic night at Highever was gone forever, replaced by a man both his parents could be proud of. Eleanor knew exactly when he spotted her, for that joyous grin she remembered from his earliest, gap-toothed years bloomed on his face and he started running. And he was fast for someone wearing heavy armor (she remembered he'd always been quick despite his size), for he was with her before she knew it, picking her up clean off her feet and spinning her around and around, kissing her face over and over again as he did so, while everyone watching clapped and laughed and cheered.

"Mother!" came his voice in her ear. "I'm _so _sorry I left you! I never thought I'd see you again!"

"That's quite enough of that, Corin Maric Cousland!" she murmured right back. "You did just as you ought. And once Roland had gotten me out of Highever, I was probably safer than I would have been with you at Ostagar."

"You may have a point there," he conceded, and with one last rib-cracking hug, he set her down, still smiling broadly.

"You don't seem particularly surprised," Eleanor noted.

"Morrigan flew back to me last night to warn me."

The teyrna had read of the wilder witch's shape changing ability and Fergus had expounded further upon how she was helping to coordinate the forces. "To _warn_ you? Hmmph. I could almost be annoyed."

"Please don't be. I'm glad she did. I…needed a little time. It was quite a shock."

Remembering Fergus' very profound reaction, and what she had read in Corin's letter, the teyrna had to admit that it might not have been a bad idea after all, given that Corin was going to have to lead Ferelden into battle this day.

"And where is Roland?" her youngest asked.

"Here, my lord," the knight responded from the ring of onlookers. "I mean, Your Royal Highness," he hastily amended, his unfortunately fair complexion reddening in embarrassment. Corin gave his mother a last kiss, then strode over and gave Ser Gilmore a squeeze and a slap on the back.

"Good man! It's comforting to know that Ferelden may be going up in flames and the world as we know it may be ending, but the Gilmore sense of propriety endures, rock-solid as ever. I'm never going to get you to call me by my given name now, am I?"

"Your Royal Highness!" Roland Gilmore protested, looking absolutely scandalized.

"I know Fergus has already thanked you, Roland, but you have my thanks as well."

The knight recovered himself and nodded firmly. "You are very welcome, my lord prince. And may I say what a joy it is to see the teyrn's family back together again."

"Yes. It's turning out to be a _great_ morning! Let's hope the rest of the day stays that way," Corin said, his eyes turning for a moment towards Denerim.

* * *

><p>Anora pulled rank then and claimed her betrothed, taking him off to her tent before the final war council began. Once they were within, she raised her chin and gave him a meaningful look. Corin laughed, and promptly lifted her off her feet to give her one of their trademark kisses, in private for once.<p>

"So-did the weed flower make you sneeze?" he asked when they finally came up for air and he had set her back down.

"No."

"What did you do with it?"

"It is some place close and out of sight," came the slightly prim response. Her hand hovered over her heart for a moment. Corin grinned.

"Damnably unfair of you to be in armor. I could have gone hunting to make sure."

Anora's eyebrow lifted. "I'm not sure the dignity of the Fereldan throne would survive us halting the offense against the Archdemon to grab a quickie."

"Somehow the _dignity_ of the Fereldan throne isn't very high on my list of priorities at present. Just its survival."

"Speaking of that, Corin…the reason I wanted to speak to you is because your Senior Enchanter tells me that our night together bore fruit. I am with child."

"Can she really tell this early?" His expression was dubious.

"Mages apparently can. Your Morrigan confirmed it as well."

"Oh." He pondered this for a moment, then she watched the smile break over his face. "Oh! That's _wonderful_ news! Are you feeling all right?" His brow furrowed. "Maker, I just _squeezed_ you! I'll have to stop doing that."

"Don't you dare! I don't think anyone ever harmed a babe with a squeeze like that. And yes, I am quite well. I am not far enough along for it to affect me in any way just yet. Does the news please you?"

"Of course it _pleases _me! Doesn't it please you?"

"I am very happy. And quite honestly, hoping the news will inspire you to come back in one piece."

His fingers lifted and brushed softly down her cheek. "It is an excellent motivation, I'll give you that. Not that I didn't have enough already."

Anora stepped back towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Come back," she murmured as she had before his departure to Redcliffe. Corin's arms closed back around her gently in turn and she felt his lips brush the top of her head. Then his chin came to rest there and she heard him sigh softly.

"If I can," came the same answer he'd given her before.

* * *

><p>The war council did not take very long. The darkspawn, somehow knowing that an attack was imminent, were massing in great numbers before the gate. It was decided that a straightforward attack by the heavy forces would serve best, while the Dalish and Fereldan archers would operate upon the flanks. There was a brief, frenetic time of captains shouting orders and companies forming up, then the front ranks of the army were all gathered before the old watch tower.<p>

"So-shall the general address the troops, or will the Queen and the Prince do it?" Fergus asked.

"Corin shall do it," Anora said. She was curious as to what he would say, and it gave her an opportunity to watch him for a little longer.

Seemingly undismayed at the prospect, he crooked a smile at her and offered her his arm. They mounted the steps of the tower porch, Pooka trailing behind them, Fergus, Eleanor, Eamon and the other commanders as well as Corin's friends gathered about the bottom.

The Crown Prince looked out over his massed forces for a long moment, gathering his thoughts. "The First Blight lasted almost two hundred years, during which time the Grey Wardens came into being," he said at last, almost conversationally it seemed, though his voice was pitched to carry. "The Second Blight lasted for ten years, the Third for fifteen. The Fourth Blight lasted for twelve years. Those Blights affected most of Thedas at different times. Orlais, Tevinter, the Free Marches, Rivain, Antiva, the Anderfels, all of them suffered under the scourge of the darkspawn. History will say that the Fifth Blight lasted little more than a year, for it will end _today_! _This_ Archdemon made a serious error when it chose to rise in _Ferelden_!" Cheers burst from the Ferelden army and Corin grinned wolfishly. When the noise subsided, he continued.

"The other nations of Thedas are sitting back, waiting for us to perish. They call us barbarians. They call us dog-lords, thinking it an insult. It is a _compliment_ of the highest order! We _are _like the mabari we love-loyal to our friends, deadly to our enemies. And once a mabari sinks its teeth into the throat of its foe and locks its jaws, only _death_ can pry it loose!" Here Pooka raised his head and howled his approval, answering howls echoing back from the other mabari in the ranks. Corin strode down the stairs, Pooka following, to stand at the front of the host. Starfang blazed under the clouded sky as he drew it forth.

"We are going to sink our teeth into the horde today and destroy it! We _will_ avenge the Grey Wardens and Ferelden soldiers who died at Ostagar! We _will_ avenge our fallen sovereign, our good King Cailan! We _will_ complete the task they died attempting! And we will do it in the company of our friends and allies-the Dwarves of Orzammar, the Dalish people and the mages of the Kinloch Circle!"

Alistair, Riordan, Cauthrien and his friends came to him then. Corin's glance made a circuit of the space before the tower, crossed Fergus', his mother's. His older brother gave him a wink and grin, and went to join his men. From where she stood beside Alfstanna, Eleanor blew him a kiss and smiled, blinking a bit. Finally he looked over his shoulder, back up the stairs to where Anora stood. She lifted a hand in farewell, her face somber. He turned and lifted Starfang in salute to her, then turned back and pointed the sword down the hill.

"For King Cailan! For the Grey Wardens! For Her Majesty the Queen! For _Ferelden_!" With a roar, the host started its march towards Denerim.


	33. Chapter 33

Thanks to Jade Ookami, spectre4hire, couslandforever (I highly approve of the name!), Enaid Aderyn, Mike 3207, lazyguy90, bob, Zukafew119 (x 3-so glad to have you back!), NonOmnisMoriar, Albericus, RakeeshJ4 (for _four_ very insightful reviews!), none, mille libri, hyperactiveslacker, Suilven, owl208, blackholelord, RoninKenshin and Jordan Mathias for all the lovely reviews. I also have to put in a thanks here for everyone who has put _Corin_ on their favorites or alerts list, or even just read and silently enjoyed it. The reception this story has gotten has been way beyond what I imagined it would.

Also, some chapter notes. Nerissa Surana was my first Mage play-through, whom I quite enjoyed and whom I quite by accident deleted. All that remains of poor Nerissa is a few screen-shots. So I've resurrected her in other guise and given her more oomph than you might expect out of a young mage just out of the Circle.

And as regards Alienage geography. The battle for the Alienage always turns me around, because you're shown coming in from the Marketplace (bridge side), but then you run through the Alienage and the bridge is on the other side of the gate! Also, the cut scene shows the dragon breaking the bridge between you and the Alienage. What you're supposed to bring away from this (I guess) is that you're blocked off from leaving the city. No escape and all that. But what it actually shows is that you're back in the Marketplace and can't go higher up. So...after giving it some thought, I decided to shift geography a little bit and put the Alienage on the Lower Market side of the river. The big long bridge is on the other side, to keep the nasty elveses away from the rich people. A small change compared to some of the other stuff I've done, but I thought I'd mention it.

In DAII, there is no friendly fire with spells. I prefer that to the DAO system. To explain it, mages can basically cast a spell on an area while doing exclusions that spare their allies. In other respects, the magic still works as in the game-i.e. Cone of Cold doesn't do the arc thing.

* * *

><p>The Army of Ferelden, pent-up for over a week with the knowledge that the darkspawn were having their way with Denerim, hit the darkspawn before the gate with rabid ferocity. And the allies, weary from their journey though they were, were determined not to be outdone. With the Grey Wardens in the van, a path to the gate was cleared very swiftly, whereupon Riordan paused to call a quick council with his fellow Wardens.<p>

"I am sensing two generals in the city," he said, his face grim. "This could be a problem. If they come out, they will give the darkspawn direction and make things much more difficult for the army."

"As you were afraid one would do at Redcliffe?" Corin asked. The Senior Warden nodded.

"They are dangerous. Take the worst emissary or the worst alpha you've encountered, make it three or four times tougher and you've got a general. You know Denerim much better than I do, Your Royal Highness, and you and Warden Theirin will be able to sense the generals when you get closer to them. My suggestion is that you take a small party and find and slay them."

"And what will you and Warden Cauthrien be doing?" Alistair asked. "How are we going to fight a flying dragon?"

"We will be trying to lure the dragon to the highest point in the city."

"That would be the roof of Fort Drakon," Corin said.

Riordan nodded. "Warden Cauthrien knows the way."

"And knows how to operate the ballistae that are up there," Cauthrien said mildly.

Corin gave the Senior Warden a hard look. Riordan simply smiled. "I told you that I would take the final blow if at all possible, Your Royal Highness. Find the generals, slay them, then come swiftly as you may. I suspect there will be plenty of Archdemon left to go around."

"We should split forces then. You'll need people with you."

"I leave that decision up to you. You know your people best."

Corin turned to look as his companions. The first choice was easy enough-he'd already given his word that Morrigan would confront the Archdemon and Riordan looked more likely to do that than he did at this point.

"You and Cauthrien will take Morrigan with you. Wynne will stay with us." Morrigan gave him a cool-eyed stare, then nodded and moved towards the other two Wardens.

Corin considered his fighters next, and again that was relatively easy. Sten looked to him as commander and Pooka would not answer to anyone else other than himself or Alistair.

"Oghren, Shale, you're with Riordan and Cauthrien. Sten, you're with us."

"_Kadan_."

The rogues required the most consideration, but he knew that Alistair would like to have Leliana along and Corin trusted Zevran's ability to get himself out of a bad situation better than the bard's. And Riordan looked to be facing the fiercer fight.

"Zevran, would you please go with Cauthrien and Riordan?"

"Of course, my _deliciously_ forceful prince."

"Leli, you're with me and Alistair."

"Very well." The bard sauntered over next to his Warden brother and smiled. "This is a good thing, I think. If we can slay those generals, I am sure that we will save many lives."

For a long moment, the two groups stared at one another. "May the Maker keep us all safe until we meet again," Corin said firmly; then nodding to Riordan, turned away and started into the city.

* * *

><p>"Where in the Maker's name are we and where are Irving and the rest?" Senior Enchanter Leorah muttered, her expression anything but calm. Ten of the other younger magi of the Circle gave her uneasy looks, perturbed at the lack of confident leadership. The eleventh, another elven woman like herself though half a head shorter, pulled a rolled of parchment out of a scroll case at her belt, took one page from it and put the others back. She unrolled her chosen page and studied it intently for a moment.<p>

"Hmmmm. That big, fancy house must be Arl Eamon's estate over there, so that-" and she pointed behind them, "is the road back out of the city. Like I've been saying all along."

"Give me that!" the Senior Enchanter snapped, snatching the map away from the other woman, whose Enchanter's robes had been hacked off raggedly to the knee with a dagger. Leorah shrieked when she saw that the edges of the parchment had obviously been cut. "You _stole_ this from the map section! You…you _cut_ it out of a _book_!" She looked as horrified as if she'd discovered the enchanter stooping bloody-mouthed over the corpse of a baby.

Enchanter Nerissa Surana shrugged. "So what if I did? We needed a map of Denerim. It wasn't going to do us any good all the way back in Kinloch!" She patted the scroll case and smiled. "I've got a map of Ferelden too."

"That's…that's _desecration!_ _Theft!_ Irving is going to hear of this!"

Surana seemed totally unmoved by the threat, pointing over Leorah's shoulder instead.

"Sure, Senior Enchanter. Whatever you say. But could we maybe kill that ogre that's coming towards us first?"

Leorah spun around, her eyes bugging as she saw the huge darkspawn advancing towards them.

_Irving's getting senile, _his former apprentice thought in irritation, as it finally became apparent beyond a shadow of a doubt to Nerissa Surana that the Senior Enchanter was out of her depth. _You __**don't**__ put someone who fills out lab requisitions in a position of combat command! _All Leorah had managed to do to date was get them separated from the rest of the mages and lost in a city filled with monsters.

And that ogre was coming pretty quickly. _Rank be damned! I'm not going to get killed because of it! _"Healers-to the back of the party," she heard herself command calmly. "The rest of you, hit him with everything you've got that's not an area spell. Cycle through and _keep it coming_! If anyone's got a paralyze or sleep spell, _now_ would be a good time!" She stepped to the front of the cluster of demoralized mages and dropped a fireball on the ogre, then froze it in the next moment, then sent a rock barrage against it, then lightning, in an impressive display of swift and competent spell-casting. A straggle of arcane bolts, lightning, flame and cold began to impact upon the creature as the other mages took heart from her confidence. In short order, the ogre fell backwards dead.

Another ogre, seeing its companion fall, turned beady eyes towards the mages. "Oh, look! Sucker Number Two!" the young enchanter caroled. "Same thing again, people! Isn't this _easy_?"

The healers looked at Nerissa as if she were out of her mind, but a couple of the primals were beginning to smile. She targeted the second ogre with the same succession of spells as the first. This time the other mages participated more eagerly and the ogre succumbed much more quickly than had the first one. Seeing that no more ogres were in the immediate vicinity, the enchanter turned back to her companions, her staff thrust skyward.

"And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why the Chantry is scared shitless about us! We are dangerous! We are mighty! We are _combat mages_!"

"You are absolutely _insane_, Surana!" the Senior Enchanter said, her face pale. Nerissa lowered her staff, cocked her head to one side and shrugged.

"Insane times call for insane people. Speaking of which, you want me to take it from here, Senior Enchanter?"

Leorah stared down at her subordinate, taking in the hacked-off robe, the scrounged breeches and sensible boots beneath, the little bandolier belt of lyrium potions about her waist Surana had made from the robe fabric she'd mutilated. Surana was a freak. Everyone knew it. The shortest Harrowing in the history of the Kinloch Circle. A crazy level of primal power that had had Greagoir lobbying for Tranquility almost from the moment she'd arrived at the tower.

Nerissa spent all her time, when she wasn't outside lobbing fireballs and lightning at targets on the stony ground or inflated bladders in the lake, running up and down the stairs in the Tower or around the shore. She'd even gotten some _weight training_ help from a bemused Cullen. When Greagoir had protested, physical training for mages not being considered a priority, Irving had pointed out that there were many worse ways Surana could burn off all that excess energy of hers and the Knight-Commander had folded. Her tiny frame was taut with wiry muscle. And she read books on military strategy and accounts of battles. Everyone had thought she was crazy for dedicating her time and energy to perfecting skills that could only be used in combat rather than in furthering magical research.

Until Uldred's rebellion. As a mere enchanter, Surana had not gone to Ostagar, and had made no end of fuss about that. But when Uldred and the survivors had returned and the carnage started, she took down three Senior Enchanters and several abominations. She'd held back the blood mages long enough for Niall to get to the stockroom and take the Litany of Adralla and Uldred himself had to bind her with blood magic to capture her alive. Apparently she was a prize he coveted, a mage he particularly desired to turn because of her raw power. But he hadn't succeeded in turning her. Nerissa was one of the few still alive and not possessed in the Harrowing Room when the Grey Warden and his people had liberated the tower.

That experience hadn't made Surana any less twitchy and weird, in Leorah's opinion. But then, Leorah couldn't say much, having retreated into the storerooms and the secret passage under the lake when the fighting broke out. She had emerged a week later, when the sound of templars rummaging through the stores had told her the rebellion was over. Uldred had never even bothered to seek her out. Now she looked down at Nerissa's cheerful, smiling face and at the hopeful faces of her followers. It was all too apparent what they thought. The Senior Enchanter surrendered the burden of command almost gratefully.

"All right, Surana. You're the one with the knowledge about this. You're in charge, Maker help you. What do we do?"

"Get back out to the battle," came the prompt reply. "Join back up with the army. We've come too far in. We may be mighty, but we're alone in here and we need hardbodies to keep the 'spawn off of us if we're to accomplish anything." She gestured to the healers. "New formation. You two are in the middle." More swift gestures. "You four on the left, you four on the right. I'll be in front and the Senior Enchanter will bring up the rear. Keep your eyes peeled and your staffs ready, people! Sing out if you see any darkspawn. Let's march!"

* * *

><p>Corin and his companions encountered only the odd darkspawn straggler as they went into the city. At the entrance to the Lower Market, however, they found some of their own people, a small group of mages.<p>

"_Saarebas._ A great many of them!" Sten growled.

"Easy, Sten," Corin soothed. "Most of them have never been out of the tower before."

"They should not be out of the tower _now_, not without a lead."

"Oh look! Hardbodies!" the diminutive elf in enchanter's robes at the front of the group said cheerfully. Her eyes narrowed, taking in Corin's gilded dragonbone. "_Royal_ hardbodies at that! Good morning, Your Royal Highness!"

Corin remembered the perky mage, both from the aftermath of Uldred's rebellion, when she hadn't been quite so perky, and from talking to her during the long march up from Redcliffe. "Enchanter Surana, isn't it?"

"Nerissa Surana. I should have known _you'd _be here," Wynne cut in with her usual disregard for rank, frowning a little. "What trouble are you leading these mages into now? And Leorah, why aren't _you_ in charge? You rank her. _You_ should be leading."

Leorah's face reddened. "Actually, Wynne, Surana knows a lot more about combat magic than I do. She's done very well."

"We got separated from the First Enchanter and were finding our way back out to the army. It's too dangerous to fight without some soldiers giving us protection," the enchanter said, scowling right back at Wynne. "Nice to see _you_ too, Senior Enchanter. So _good_ of you to _condescend_ to drop by!"

_That is some genuine animosity there, _Alistair noted with interest. You didn't often see people rear up and give Wynne grief. Corin had noticed it also, his face getting that deceptive, almost sleepy expression that meant he was surreptitiously studying someone.

Alistair studied the little enchanter more closely as well. She was gamine pretty rather than beautiful, with the standard triangular, elven face, the pointed chin and big green eyes. Her ears were of moderate size and gracefully shaped, her hair a rich, dark mahogany color and was screwed haphazardly up into a bun at the back of her head. A spray of freckles decorated her tip-tilted nose, an indication that she got outside more than did a lot of the Circle mages. And she was tiny. He couldn't understand why it was Wynne seemed to harbor such antipathy. The enchanter seemed friendly enough.

"Actually, we could use some back-up, if you all feel up to it," Corin was saying. "The Senior Warden has set us to the task of finding and killing two darkspawn generals that are here in the city. One of them is close by, by the feel of things. I think it might be somewhere in the Marketplace. Would you care to accompany us?"

Nerissa cast her eye over her followers and found no objection, if no great enthusiasm either. "We would be honored to help you, Sire. We did kill a couple of ogres in the marketplace, but there may be more there. You will need to be careful and keep your people to either side of our field of fire. Some of us get a little…excitable about things." She gave one young male mage in particular a beady eye.

"Understood. For my part, I want your folk to concentrate first and foremost upon anything waving a staff about. My people and I can deal with ogres."

"Yes, my lord. We understand."

"Then if you would be so kind, ladies and gentlemen?" Corin gestured through the arch and they all marched through. He dropped to the back of the party, to speak low in Wynne's ear.

"I don't know what's between you and Surana, Wynne, and I'm not interested in the particulars at present. But you're with me right now. Let the enchanter run her people."

"They're supposed to be _Leorah's _people!"

"Leorah obviously couldn't find her own boot with both hands. She had the command and apparently voluntarily-and wisely-relinquished it. Now if it becomes apparent that Surana_ doesn't _know what she's doing, I'll let you take over. But not until then."

"With all due respect, Your Royal Highness," Wynne's tone was frosty with disapproval, "You do not understand the hierarchy of the Circle."

"With all due respect, Senior Enchanter, _I don't care_! What I _do_ understand is the chain of command, and that _I _am the top link, over all the allied forces, _including _the Circle. I defer only to Riordan upon Grey Warden matters. In everything else, it's my way or the Imperial Highway. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Your Royal Highness," came the chilly response, punctuated with a sniff.

"I've had a really wonderful morning, Wynne, but the _end_ of the day is more than likely going to suck. Let's not start the unpleasantness any earlier than we have to, shall we?"

Which request totally disarmed the older mage. "I…no, of course not, Corin."

"Thank you."

He rejoined Alistair at the front of the group. His Warden brother leaned close, eyes forward, speaking low so that only Corin could hear.

"Did I hear right? Did you just spank Wynne right on her granny pants?"

"Quiet! She'll hear you!" hissed Corin, but he was trying very hard not to smile.

* * *

><p><em>My people and I can deal with ogres<em>. Famous last words and true enough, when the ogres came in ones and twos. But threes and fours? Corin, Sten, Pooka, Alistair and Leliana broke left and right as they entered the now-burning marketplace, leaving the mages free range to fire at the central ogres. Which they did, as Surana chanted encouragement and directed fire, unleashing such a barrage of destructive magic that the backwash nearly singed the fighters anyway despite the fact that they were not the targets.

A genlock emissary made itself known and as instructed, the mages annihilated it while Corin and Alistair double-teamed another ogre. That was the two Wardens' only kill. As they progressed through the burning maze that had been the Lower Marketplace, more ogres attacked them, but one and two at a time and were visible from such a distance that they could be easily shot down long before they reached the mages or the Crown Prince and his companions.

A presence more oppressive than the ogres suddenly registered upon Corin's Warden sense. He looked over at Alistair to find that his Warden brother was looking in the direction of the Chantry, even as he had been.

"You feel it too, Alistair?"

"Yes. He's here."

"Everyone! Be ready! The general is here!"

The door to the Chantry opened and two more ogres charged out. As before, the mages made short work of them. Leliana was shooting as well. A very tall, armored figure walked out in their wake, raising a two-handed sword high and giving a war-cry. Pooka growled and started forward, only to be halted by Corin's hand upon his shoulder.

"No, Pook!" The last thing Corin needed was for his mabari to be fried by friendly fire. The general was apparently of the fighter rather than mage persuasion. Wynne shot a petrifaction spell and Surana promptly followed it with a rock barrage, then worked her way through her extensive repertoire of destruction. Between their efforts and those of the other mages, the first general proved to be no more of a challenge than the ogres had been.

"I'm feeling a little unneeded here," Corin commented to Alistair, who nodded. "Nicely done!" he commended the mages, some of whom actually smiled back at him. "That went much more easily than I thought it would."

"Where do we go from here, my lord?" the enchanter asked.

"You've been at this longer than I have, Alistair,' the Crown Prince said. "Can you pick anything up?"

Alistair's brow wrinkled as he turned around completely twice, eyes and other senses scanning the Marketplace. His attention finally focused on the Alienage gate. "I think the other one is in that direction."

"All right then. Let's go get him."

* * *

><p>Alistair noticed the little enchanter looking about her intently as they moved through the gate and into the dirt main street of the Alienage, and dropped back to walk beside her for a moment.<p>

"Are you from Denerim?"

"No, Highever. I don't remember much. My magic started manifesting when I was four. I _think _I remember my mother crying. And my little brother. Though I would imagine the Highever alienage looks a lot like this." She nodded thoughtfully. "Looks like they got the elves out. I didn't expect that."

"Corin insisted on it."

"Then maybe the Highever alienage is nicer. Though after that Howe fellow took the city…"

"You never saw your family again?"

"No. The only people who find it harder to travel about than mages are elves." She looked as if she were about to say more, then suddenly stopped, laying a hand upon his elbow. "Do you hear that?" There was the sound of timbers cracking up ahead.

"Yes, and I feel _him_! Heads up, people! General ahead!"

They'd had a very easy time of it so far. Too easy. It was only to be expected that things would eventually change. This general was a high-powered mage, and he had an ogre to use as a battering ram on the Alienage gate and a horde of darkspawn.

"Run! _Run!_" Corin shouted, charging forward, knowing that their only chance was to bottle the darkspawn up in the gateway. Alistair, Pooka and Sten ran with him to stop the ogre. But they were too late. The ogre barreled right through the gate, through them and into the young mages; who, demoralized, scattered like chickens, screaming.

"Stay together!" Surana called to the mages, but they were too panicked to pay heed. The ogre had been taken down by the fighters, but the damage was done. Hurlocks and genlocks were pouring through the gate to attack as well. There was no way to re-group-each mage was on his or her own.

For all that she had read and practiced and thought she had prepared, close combat with darkspawn was a frightening revelation to Nerissa Surana. Far, far different from fighting humans. There were the horrible rictus grins, the screeching, the spittle flying from their lips, the stench. And the overwhelming sense of _wrongness_. If she hadn't already been blooded, if she hadn't practiced for years on end, over and over, one spell flowing almost instantly into another, she might very well have died. But she had, and her body took over while her mind was gibbering, doing the gestures and passes that called up the power automatically, which helped her mind calm enough to actually summon it.

Flame and lightning, stone and cold. She called and they came as they always had, particular friends of hers. Fire lanced down her leg as a genlock sword struck home. She froze, then shattered him in retaliation. Gradually, she winnowed her foes down, until no one was in her immediate vicinity, and she had the opportunity to look about. There were several robed bodies down on the ground, and Wynne and Leorah were over them.

"I've got this, Surana! _Go_!" the Senior Enchanter cried, gesturing through the gate. Nerissa ran limping forward, to see that the white-haired giant was trying to hold off a horde of oncoming darkspawn single-handedly, while the Prince and his companion were combating the general, the Prince's mabari leaping about the edges, trying to pull the huge darkspawn down.

The general dropped a massive chained lightning spell on the two, followed by a fireball, but cooked though they were, they just kept hammering at him. Nerissa remembered what the Prince had said about mages and began attacking the general with staff blasts.

Then the red glow of a curse fell upon the Prince's friend. Nerissa could feel the entropy magic leaching the life from him and wondered if he had enough strength to survive it. It saddened her because he had seemed like a nice person, from what she could tell from their limited acquaintance. But there was nothing she could do about it, having no healing beyond the basic spell. And even if she had, healing didn't work against a curse like that.

Then the Prince shifted his sword to his shield hand. A blue-white cleansing wave radiated out from him and caught Nerissa, interrupting her flow of mana and momentarily stunning her. But the curse was gone and the fair-haired hardbody leapt back into the battle, renewed.

_The __**Prince**__ is a **templar**? _There was no time to ponder the revelation. She was still having trouble summoning energy because of the cleanse, so she popped the cork on her first lyrium potion and downed it in one gulp. The rush of raw power through her veins steadied her. Taking a moment to actually survey the field, she found that the Prince and his friend seemed to be finishing off the general, but the giant with the two-handed sword was being overrun. So she hurriedly set her exclusions and dropped a fireball on top of him and his foes. That killed several outright and gave him some breathing room. There was a bridge beyond him, and the darkspawn were pouring over it in a foul wave. It was time to bring out the big stuff, all the more easy because none of the others had advanced that far.

Inferno first, because the darkspawn feared fire. With a Blizzard and then a Tempest on top of that. Earthquake was not an option-they might need the bridge. The end of the bridge became a death zone of roasting, freezing and lightning-struck darkspawn. Then her reserves were gone and she was shaking in her sensible boots. Time for the second lyrium potion, a big one. Power flowed back into her and right back out, into more area spells that were moving forward across the bridge, even as she moved forward, oblivious to anything else but the channeling of her magic. Her staff was literally quivering in her hand, she was channeling so much power through it.

The giant man was beside her, growling in some foreign tongue. She was peripherally aware that the Prince and his friend and his hound had joined them as well and were keeping the few darkspawn that got through her elemental gauntlet off of her, freeing her to continue to work. She'd taken a third potion and done several more area spells before she finally became aware that someone was calling her name.

"Enchanter Surana, they're gone. You've killed them all. You can stop now." The voice was calm, matter-of-fact. The Prince.

Nerissa grounded her staff and leaned on it, all too aware now that the rush of battle was gone, of the pain lancing up and down her leg.

"Your leg is all over blood," the Prince's friend said, concerned. He knelt before her and grinned disarmingly. "Don't fry _me_ now! I'm not getting fresh, I just need to see how bad this is." She nodded, intending to watch him, but he shook his head. "No, don't you look. It upsets some people to see their own blood and I don't need you passing out on me." So she obediently turned her head away, leaned on her staff and concentrated on steadying her breathing. He stripped his gauntlets, then she could feel his bare fingers, deft for all their size, pulling the sliced edges of the slash in her breeches away from the wound.

"This isn't bad at all. Clean slash," came the reassuring verdict. "We won't trouble Wynne with this." He delved into his belt pouch, pulled out a healing potion, uncorked it and presented it to her. She downed it and sighed in relief as the pain went away. He checked again to make sure the wound was fully closed, then smiled at her. "There, that did it. Boo-boo all gone."

"'Boo-boo'?" she snorted, smiling a little despite the very mixed emotions she was feeling at present.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, getting to his feet. "I _meant _your honorably got war-wound. Scar of battle and all that."

"Enchanter, do you think you could use this staff?" the Prince asked more seriously, from over where he was looting the darkspawn general. He'd looted the other general as well, picking up a very nice helmet in the process, which he had said he intended to give to his brother. Nerissa couldn't see where a _prince_ needed to do such a thing, but then she recollected that he'd lived on the run and hand-to-mouth for over a year before he was crowned. Perhaps old habits died hard.

She walked over and stared down at the twisted staff. It certainly looked much more ominous and formidable than did her own bland, Circle-issued steel one.

"Flame it first a couple of times to make sure it's clean of the Taint," the Prince directed. "Then it should be safe enough." She did as he directed, waited a few moments for the staff to cool, then cautiously took it up.

"I used a darkspawn blade for a long time, and Zevran is still carrying it," the Prince said. "Most of the stuff they make isn't worth having. But the things for their elites-they're as good as some of our stuff. Give it a try."

Nerissa leveled the staff at the pile of darkspawn bodies at the end of the bridge and summoned fire. And it came, more smoothly and strongly than ever before. Ice, lightning and stone were also more powerful. Her eyes lit up.

"Oh, this is _nice_!" Then her face fell, and she held the staff out to the Prince. "It's rightfully one of the Senior Enchanters', though."

"I didn't offer it to Wynne or Leorah, Enchanter Surana, and the general was _my_ kill," the Prince said firmly.

"Besides," his friend put in. "Does that honestly look like the sort of staff that belongs to a mage who _knits sweaters _for people? No, _that's_ a staff for a mage who rains death down from above on her foes. The sort of mage who is the reason templars were invented in the first place."

"Thanks, I think," Nerissa said dryly, sticking the tip of her tongue out at him. He chuckled. "And thank you, Your Royal Highness," she then said much more politely to the Prince.

"You're very welcome. Morrigan always says that the staff you take from a conquered foe is the staff best used in battle. But I'm no mage, so I wouldn't know." His tone was civil, though his expression was grim. "Let's go get the butcher's bill."

The butcher's bill was high. Kinnon, gone. Marelys, gone. Tolliver, gone. Cerevir, gone. And the other six so demoralized that they would hardly look anyone in the face. Several had been wounded, but Wynne had put them to rights. Physically, at least. The accounts of battle she had read had included mention of casualties, of course. But the reality struck Nerissa to the heart.

"This is all my fault!" she said softly, her face ashen. "_I'm_ the one who led them into this." _I laughed about it, said it was __**easy**__! What an __**idiot **__I was!_

"No, this is _not_ your fault," the Prince said firmly from beside her. "It was bad battle luck and could have happened to anyone. Besides, these deaths are the burden of the Crown_. I _am the one who asked you all to help me. And arguing over blame is pointless in any event. The question is-what to do now? I don't think they've got another fight in them."

"The road behind us might very well be clear," Leorah said. "I will take them back out of the city, if Your Highness permits." The erstwhile retiring Senior Enchanter still looked somewhat shocked in the aftermath of battle, but she also looked as if she had steeled herself to see the task through.

"Of course I will permit it, Senior Enchanter. I think it for the best." The Prince walked over to where the young mages were clustered together, trying not to look at their fallen companions.

"Ferelden thanks you for your service. Myself and my Warden brother were tasked to find and slay the two generals by the Senior Warden, because many lives would be saved if we did so. You and your fallen companions have helped to do that. You should always be proud of that." He then took the hands of each of them in turn and said a few private words. Nerissa saw how the royal attention seemed to hearten them. _Must be a prince thing._

"Corin." Wynne was speaking and the Prince turned to face her. "I was thinking…that perhaps _I_ should take them back." One inky black eyebrow arched in surprise. The Senior Enchanter continued. "I could get them back to the healers' tents and come back into the city with some of Fergus' men."

"They'd have a better chance with you accompanying them, that's for sure, Wynne," he said thoughtfully. "And it's probably going to be a lot more close quarters fighting from here on in, which isn't your strong suit. If that's what you want…"

"It's what I think is best, yes."

"All right then." He came to her and promptly folded her into a dragonbone embrace.

"You dear, _provoking_ boy! Take care of yourself," Nerissa heard her murmur.

"You do so as well. Or who will I get to tell me stories about griffons?"

Wynne spluttered. The Prince handed her off to his friend, whom she embraced even more tightly.

"Oh, Alistair!" Wynne squeezed the fair-haired Warden for what Nerissa thought was a rather long time. He endured it willingly enough, however, and even kissed her forehead when she let him go.

"Look after yourself, Wynne. And them too."

The bard said her good-byes next, embracing the Senior Enchanter and kissing her on both cheeks. Wynne then turned to look at the Qunari.

"_Panahedan, Saarebas," _he said in his deep voice.

Wynne's brow furrowed. "_Ataash varin kata," _she said a little hesitantly. The corners of the giant's mouth twitched upward into something that might have been a smile, if you looked at it from just the right angle.

"The inflection is incorrect and your accent needs work. But I thank you for the thought." He inclined his head to her, turned his back and took a few steps away.

Wynne looked at Nerissa. "Come on, Enchanter Surana. We'd best be moving."

Tightening her hand about her new staff, Nerissa shook her head. "I'm all right, Senior Enchanter. I think I'd like to go on into the city." Looking at the Prince, she added hastily, "With the Prince's permission, of course."

Eyes almost as blue as lyrium studied her for a long moment. "Someone who can lay down the kind of destruction you can? I think I'd like to have you along."

Nerissa moved to his side and watched as her fellow mages began the walk back to the city gates.

"Looks like formal introductions are in order," the Prince said when they'd turned the corner and passed out of sight. She turned her attention to him. "This is Grey Warden Alistair Thierin," and he gestured to the fair-haired hardbody. "Leliana, our bard." The red-headed woman. "Sten of the Beresaad, the vanguard of the Qunari people." The giant. "And last but not least, Pooka." The mabari. "Everyone, Enchanter Nerissa Surana."

"_Saarebas_," the Qunari growled.

"Oh yes, I remember you from the Circle Tower!" the bard chirped enthusiastically. "Your hair is _such_ a pretty color! Like wine!"

Alistair Theirin merely waggled his fingers at her, grinning. The mabari stepped closer and sniffed her over. Nerissa tentatively offered him her hand, which he also sniffed, then gave a tiny lick with just the tip of his tongue.

"He likes you," noted the Prince.

"Really?"

"You still have both hands, don't you?"

Nerissa jerked around to look at him, startled, and he laughed.

"Just kidding! Pook's a softie." He looked over towards the bridge from whence the darkspawn had been coming and the smile left his face. "Come on, people. Time to tip-toe through the darkspawn and head on up the hill. We've got a date with an Archdemon. Leli, Surana, behind Alistair and myself. Sten, Pook, bring up the rear."

In that formation, they made their way through the clot of dead darkspawn at the head of the bridge and started across. When they'd gone two-thirds of the way, the two Wardens suddenly stopped and spun around, trying to look everywhere at once.

"Heads up!" the Prince cried. "DRAGON!"

It dropped down out of the sky so quickly that it seemed to come out of nowhere, reeking of corruption, a vast, purple bulk. Nerissa had her staff leveled, firing at it almost immediately, but it took no notice of her puny efforts. Bellowing, it shattered the central span of the bridge with its tail and a blast of some odd, blue fire.

Nerissa felt her arm grasped. "Let's get off the bridge!" Alistair Theirin shouted, and they all ran for the archway. But the Archdemon did not return to roast them where they stood. It simply flew off as if they were not worth any further notice.

"Well now, that's touching, that is," the Prince remarked, as they clustered under the arch, panting. "It wants to make sure we don't miss our appointment."

"If it's broken all three of the other bridges we're cut off, Corin," his Warden brother said worriedly. The Prince shrugged.

"Nothing to be done about it, so no use worrying. We either are or we aren't. Hopefully, some of our allies got into the city already." He looked over at Nerissa. "You've got good reflexes, Enchanter. Which is good, because you're going to need them."

"My magic didn't seem to affect it particularly, my lord."

He didn't seem overly concerned. "Dragons are like that, normal dragons at least. They seem to be resistant to a lot of magic. Spirit and cold generally work the best on them, though I don't know if that will hold true for an Archdemon. Your job won't be to fight the dragon in any event. It will be to keep the darkspawn off us so that Alistair and I and the other Wardens can fight it. And we already know your magic works just fine on _them_!" That was certainly heartening. Nerissa nodded. The Prince looked around at his fellows.

"Let's get going, people. We've a way to go to Drakon."


	34. Chapter 34

Thanks to mille libri, animevideogame freak, owl208, Tsu Doh Nimh, spectre4hire, (glad you like my Anora!), lazyguy90, none, JadeOokami, karthik9, Psyche Sinclair, Mike 3207, Ronin Kenshin, Enaid Aderyn, and JordanMathias for the lovely reviews last chapter.

The battle continues this chapter.

* * *

><p>After leaving the Alienage, the companions avoided the broad main thoroughfare up into the Palace District, using side roads and alleys to travel. Nerissa was puzzled.<p>

"I thought the whole point was to _kill _darkspawn," she said to the Warden named Alistair as they paused to peer out of an alleyway.

"Oh, it is, in the normal course of events. But right now, the main purpose is to kill the Archdemon and we need to have some energy left to do that after going all the way up through the city. Corin knows what he's doing. We'll fight only where we must, until we get up to Drakon. I expect we'll be fighting quite a bit regardless." He gave her a friendly grin and an avuncular pat on the head. "You're a blood-thirsty little thing, aren't you?"

She gave him a narrow-eyed, grim look in return. "Only when provoked, Hardbody." He made a show of carefully lifting his hand away from her, the grin never leaving his face.

"Oho! I am forewarned!"

"Come on, you two," the Prince hissed. "We need to go _now_." They crossed the broad street swiftly and silently, wending their way further up the hill via the streets on the other side. But His Royal Highness wasn't above indulging in a little conversation himself when they'd gone further up and were pausing for a bit of a rest and a water break. He put Sten on watch at the end of the alley after the Qunari had had a drink, then walked over to Nerissa. "You're holding up pretty well, Enchanter. All those stairs you told me about?"

"Yes, Your Royal Highness."

"Corin, please. And I'll call you Nerissa, if you don't mind."

She had to smile a little at that. "No I don't mind. I'm honored." His eyebrow flicked up.

"Thank you. I'm still getting used to this." Then he cocked his head a little to one side and nailed her with that lyrium stare of his. "Indulge me if you will, Nerissa. What is the reason for all that animosity you showed Wynne earlier?" His Warden friend was propping the wall nearby and listening with an interested expression. Leliana was sitting on a barrel, humming, waving her feet and idly scratching Pooka's ears.

"How familiar are you with the enchanter fraternities, Your-Corin?"

"A little bit. I know there are Aequitarians, Isolationists, Libertarians, Loyalists and Lucrosians. But I can't say I've studied it much more than that. There are more Aequitarians than anything else, aren't there?"

"Yes. Wynne's an Aequitarian, so's Irving. It's a pretty moderate viewpoint, so it's popular. They think we can work with the Chantry. I'm a Libertarian. We want the Chantry out of our lives."

The bard stopped humming at that. "'Magic is made to serve man, not to rule over him,'" she quoted. Nerissa gave her a flat look.

"And how much _serving_ can we do, imprisoned in Circles? How much good could the spirit healers do if they were let out? I know that's harder to argue about someone like me except in time of war, but the Maker made us, just like he made anyone else. It's odd, the way you Chantry folk go on about how mages are cursed. Why would the Maker create something that was cursed? It's like you think he made a _mistake_! Rather presumptuous of you, isn't it?"

Leliana seemed taken aback by the elf mage's vehemence. "I apologize. I did not mean to offend."

"It's all right. I don't like it, but I'm used to it. I hear it a lot from the Templars. Pretty much every damned day in fact." She took a deep breath, obviously suppressing her irritation, then turned her attention back to Corin. "Uldred was a Libertarian too."

"Really? If that's the case, then why were you being tortured in the Harrowing room with everyone else?"

"Because Uldred was a sodding _madman_! Not all the Libertarians in the tower were on his side. Not all of us are bent on havoc. And I have _no_ use for blood magic."

"So it was basically political differences between you and Wynne?"

"That was part of it. Our personalities clash as well. But the main thing was that she bailed on the Circle when it needed her most." The little enchanter set her new staff against the wall, folded her arms and frowned. "You were _there_, Corin! You saw what a state the tower was in! Wynne was our best Spirit Healer. Not the only one, but by far the best. We _needed_ her! Irving _asked_ her to stay! Oh, very politely and diffidently to be sure, because that's the way Irving works. But I know him, he was my master formerly and he was telling her that he _really_ didn't want her to go. And what did she do? Go off gallivanting all over Ferelden with you, if you'll pardon my saying so. Leaving a whole bunch of injured and traumatized mages who really needed her in the lurch. Because she couldn't be bothered to do anything so mundane as _clean up the mess_! After all, there wasn't any _glory_ in that!"

"Wynne does enjoy having her ego stroked," the Prince noted wryly.

"I'll say! She was always dashing off to mage conferences here and there where she could expound upon the gloriousness that was Wynne. And since those folks didn't have to _live_ with her, they pretty much bought the bill of goods."

"She was able to leave the tower because she was a Senior Enchanter?"

"Yes. Senior Enchanters have that privilege."

"I'm going to play Black Divine's advocate here and ask how much time _you'd_ spend in the tower if _you_ were a Senior Enchanter."

Nerissa snorted a laugh. "Got me there! Probably no more than I absolutely had to! _But-_if Irving had told me that I was needed there, _I_ would have stayed to help. Even if what he said was, 'Nerissa, I need you to stay and help us burn bodies and sear those disgusting fleshy sacks off the walls.' Which is what I did since I'm no healer, for the better part of two weeks. Then I helped sweep up the ashes and wash every wall in the tower down. I couldn't get the smell out of my robes for weeks."

"Euuuuw! I think I'd be angry too," Alistair said with a shudder. "I hadn't even considered what it would be like when all the bodies and that…stuff…started decomposing."

The little enchanter nodded. "It was pretty ghastly. We actually camped outside for a few days, until we got it under control. What with no windows to speak of, Kinloch doesn't have the greatest ventilation! But it's not like Wynne was going to have to do any of that. Nursing and healing and comforting the sick was going to be her job. And she couldn't be troubled to do it."

The Prince straightened and stretched with an audible cracking of joints. "Thank you. That certainly clarifies things for me. Will you be able to work with her, if it comes to that?"

"If you're in charge, sure."

He smiled. "I'll see what I can do. Sten, are we all clear? Yes? Then let's move out."

* * *

><p>They did not sense any more darkspawn until they reached the Palace District proper. And they found a troop of Dalish hunters there, staring warily up at two broad sets of steps, each with an ogre and cluster of darkspawn gathered there.<p>

"Good morning, Mithra," Corin said to the lovely blonde hunter who stood at the head of the elves.

"Grey Warden," she responded respectfully, inclining her head.

"Have you had good hunting so far?"

"Some. Your _shemlen_ cities are strange to us. But we have made some kills. Not so many as are gathered here, however." She cast her eye over his companions. "You have a flat-ear with you. I have not met this one before."

"No, you haven't. She just joined us today. Enchanter Nerissa Surana of the Lake Calenhad Circle. Nerissa, this is Mithra, chief hunter of the Tirfae clan of the Dalish."

Nerissa bowed. "Pleased to meet you."

"And I you," the chief hunter responded, though her face was impassive.

"I'm not much inclined to go charging up those steps," Corin told the hunter, taking his bow from his back. His companions promptly began doing the same. Mithra's mouth twitched into a smile.

"Your fire-hair here, she shoots well for a _shem_. I've shot with her." A pleased smile came over Leliana's face. "And having shot with the rest of you as well, I would suggest that _you_ might want to just aim for the ogres. They are the largest target after all."

"We will do that," Corin said, taking no offense from the words, since they were certainly true. Archery was hardly his strong suit, or Sten's or Alistair's for that matter. "The plan is that we'll shoot everything we can see before we advance. And if the darkspawn should tire of becoming pincushions and charge us, then I want you and your people to drop back and keep shooting. You are wearing lighter armor than we are. _We'll_ go to blades and engage them."

Mithra nodded. "A sensible plan. _Ma serranas, _Grey Warden_. _I will tell the others." She moved off and they could hear a spate of the melodic Dalish language being exchanged between the chief hunter and her subordinates. Eventually she looked over at Corin and nodded to indicate their readiness.

"Let's do this, people," he said to his companions. Bows were raised and aimed at the ogre at the top of the nearest set of steps. Dalish arrows began to fly.

Nerissa ran forward the few steps she needed to get into range, but she did not target the ogre. There were heads sticking up above the parapets and if she could see them, she could hit them. Magic had the advantage on archery in that it was an act of will rather than a physical aiming process. It could be blocked by structures and some of her attacks were, but a gratifying number of heads began vanishing from sight.

The ogre, infuriated by the wounding of the arrows, started down the stairs with a wave of his companions. There was an emissary with him and remembering the Prince's former orders, Nerissa shifted her focus to the ugly little darkspawn. Petrifying him, she Stonefisted him, then followed that with spirit and lightning blasts, freezing him with Winter's Grasp when the Petrify spell wore off. He died without having had a chance to do too much damage. Nerissa looked to the ogre then, but it had succumbed to the barrage of arrows. The rest of the darkspawn perished under the Dalish arrows as well.

"Well done, everyone!" the Prince exclaimed. The Dalish hunter nodded.

"Yes. I even saw _you_ hit it a couple of times, Warden!" Corin chuckled.

"You're too kind, Mithra. Same thing, other steps now."

They shifted positions rightward, to the other set of steps. This ogre apparently had the ability to learn from the death of its fellow and charged down the stairs almost immediately.

Nerissa tried to Petrify it, but it resisted the spell. She tried to freeze it and it resisted that as well. It seemed well aware of where the greatest danger lay and was charging right towards _her_, the arrows sinking in or snapping off. Readying a Flaming Hands blast, she was preparing to die when she was shoved aside by a large armored bulk.

"Get back and keep shooting. I've got this," the Warden named Alistair said casually, setting his feet as if he intended to root into the earth. Nerissa dashed back a few steps, turned and leveled her staff, shooting even as she watched in fascination.

The ogre couldn't get past the Warden. It bellowed and swiped at him, blows that should have knocked him clear across the courtyard. He just rocked with them and stood his ground. Then he saw an opening and leaped up, bearing the ogre to earth beneath him, skewering it in the chest and finally in the skull with his sword. Pulling the golden weapon free, he leapt backwards and off of the huge darkspawn with a grace that was amazing for someone so large and in such heavy armor. Then he turned to her, a concerned look on his face.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. He never landed a blow on me, thanks to you."

Was that a blush or just the flush of exertion on his cheeks? It was hard to tell. "Yes, well some of us have to do things the hard way." He slid his hand into his helm and rubbed his forehead. "Brave of you to stand your ground though. Not that many will against an ogre. Not the _brightest_ thing, but brave."

"Didn't have a choice." She lifted her foot. "Short legs, remember? Didn't think I could outrun him."

He grinned. "There is that! Seriously, next time give a shout-out. Corin or Sten or I will be glad to help you."

"All right."

"You're doing awesomely well, by the way, for someone in her first fight."

"Thank you. But it's _not_ my first fight. I fought Uldred and his people in the Circle, remember?"

"Ah, that's right…But darkspawn are different, don't you think? I'd fought before too, but I found them to be so, when I first became a Warden." Nerissa nodded, feeling a sense of gratified fellowship which he then ruined completely by ruffling her hair again like she was a child.

Oblivious to her irritation, he nodded his head in the direction of their companions. "Come on. I think His Royal Highnessness is wanting to move uptown."

* * *

><p>They did not move forward immediately. The Dalish gleaned their arrows first, returning the companions' arrows to them as well. Then they advanced cautiously up the steps, only to encounter another couple of emissaries and some darkspawn troops as well as a similar arrangement of ogres and troops on the stairs. The Prince and his companions got into some hand-to-hand there, while the Dalish and the bard shot from a distance as ordered. Nerissa concentrated on the emissaries. The first she was able to take down with little trouble, but the second dropped a fireball on her just as she turned her concentration on him.<p>

It was hardly the first time she'd run afoul of fire in her training, usually her own before her control had been well established. And Uldred's disciples had been very fond of it as well. Though she knew better, she found herself instinctively doing an exclusion, even though that didn't work on someone else's spell_. _The next moment the fire began searing her.

She sucked in a breath reflexively. Another big mistake that she usually avoided, as the hot air seared her lung passages. But she didn't scream, she managed that much at least. Dalish were moaning all around her and the emissary was peppering them with staff blasts. Nerissa used her staff to lever herself back to her feet.

"You sodding son-of-a-bitch!" she croaked.

The thing leered at her, starting to gesture and summon the magical energies for another spell. Nerissa did too, and she was faster. Her Winter's Grasp took him first, then she shattered him with a Stonefist.

"Ha! Last mage standing!" came another croak. The bard materialized suddenly at her side, a potion in hand. She looked a little singed.

"Here, take this!"

Nerissa popped the cork and downed it gratefully. The first effect was instantaneous and wonderful, soothing her air passages on the way down. The easing of her scorched skin took a few moments more. She looked at Leliana.

"Am I serving Man good enough to suit you, Chantry-Girl?"

The bard's laughter trilled out. "No complaints on my end! I'm _glad_ you took him down! I hate having my hair singed! The smell lingers so!"

The Prince was there suddenly as well, surveying the damage. "Here, everyone, let's pop behind this wall for a few minutes before we go on." There was a convenient wall on their left hand that would shelter them from any arrows or missile spells. No one was dead, but several of the Dalish were badly burned and had to be assisted into the wall's shelter. The darkspawn at the top of the steps thankfully showed no inclination to come down and attack, though certainly this would have been a good time, with so many of them injured and vulnerable.

_I guess that's the whole mindless thing coming into play_, the mage thought. _And right now, I'm grateful for it!_

"You said that you have a healing spell, Nerissa?" Corin asked her when they'd taken shelter. Still a little foggy from the bliss that was the cessation of pain, Nerissa shook herself.

"Just the basic one."

"Then if you're able, I'd be much obliged if you'd start using it. The Dalish need to save their potions."

She felt a little glow of pleasure when she realized that he was treating her just as he would the others. Moving to the most seriously injured Dalish closest to her, she began to summon the healing energy. It came nowhere near as easily to her as destructive magic, but it came.

It took a few minutes to do enough healing spells to deal with all the Dalish elves' burns, since she could not do the group healing spell, but everyone seemed pleased enough to wait. She deduced by context that _ma serannas _must mean 'thank you' in Dalish. And several of the warriors called her _asha'enansal _when she was done healing them, so she wondered if that might not be a term for 'mage'.

"It means, literally, 'gifted or blessed woman'," Mithra told her, when she was done with the healing and ventured to ask the hunter. "Some call our mage women that." Her eyes regarded Nerissa thoughtfully. "You hold the power of life and death in your hands. Among our people, magic is not feared, it is treasured. You're very strong, much as I imagine our people must have been in ancient times. Had you been raised among us, you could have been a Keeper."

"What is a Keeper?"

"Our Keepers keep our traditions. They try to reclaim what was lost when Arlathan fell. They are always mages, and we revere them. They are our leaders."

Nerissa smiled wistfully. "It sounds lovely. What a nice dream."

"It does not have to be a dream. We take flat-ears in from time to time. You would not be a Keeper, coming to us so late, but you would be valued."

The Circle mage shook her head. "Can't happen. When I was four, my magic manifested and the Templars took me away from my family in the Highever alienage. The first thing they did when they got me to the tower was to bleed me and make a phylactery of my blood. I'm a fully Harrowed mage now, which means that phylactery is in Denerim under the guard of the Chantry. Were I to escape to your people, the Templars would use it to track me down and take me and any other mages they found into custody. I wouldn't want to bring trouble upon the Dalish."

"So it is your fetter and you, a prisoner?"

"Pretty much."

Mithra's stern expression softened a bit. "I am very sorry to hear that. Thank you for healing my folk."

"I was glad to do it." She looked over in Corin's direction, only to find him looking at her pointedly in return, eyebrow raised. New though their acquaintance was, she thought she knew what that meant. "His Royal Highness is eager to go on, it seems. We'd best get moving."

* * *

><p>Corin was not dissatisfied with the way things were progressing, at least from their end. He'd half-expected a visit from Morrigan to apprise him of how the other team was doing, but it hadn't happened yet. Riordan and his people had taken the First Bridge, which should have gotten them into the Palace District more quickly than Corin's more roundabout route through the Lower Market. But they'd obviously not penetrated this far, and he wondered if that meant they'd met stiff resistance, or even if perhaps all of them were dead.<p>

"We haven't heard from Riordan yet," Alistair said, echoing his own thoughts.

"No, we haven't. We might be doing this by ourselves, Brother." Alistair shrugged.

"It's how we started it." Then he grinned. "I know, I know, we started it with Morrigan too." Seeing Corin's expression, he laid a reassuring arm across his shoulders. "I'm sure _she's _all right at the very least. She can fly away, after all."

"And darkspawn have bows and some of them shoot pretty well. Not to mention the emissaries." Corin sighed. "No sense worrying about it. We've got work to do on our end. Hopefully, they'll turn up and be glad we cleared the way for them. Speaking of which…Mithra, let's move forward, if you please. We've the last set of steps. Let's just go up one of these." He selected the right-hand ones and the Dalish ghosted silently forward. Wincing, he realized that any noise being made was coming from his people; more specifically, himself, Alistair and Sten clanking along. Leliana was not Zevran, but she was capable of some stealth herself and the mage was tiny, her boots unarmored.

At the base of the stairs, Leliana suddenly grabbed Corin's arm. "Stop them, Corin, there's a trap up there." Her blue eyes narrowed, surveying the space. "Tripwire, I think. Linked to some barrels. Probably explosive." He raised his hand and the advance halted. Dropping back, he conferred with Mithra. "There's a pretty dangerous trap at the head of the stairs. Leliana is going to disarm it and my people are going up to cover her. Follow as you can."

"Very well, Warden."

He turned to the little mage. "We're going up first, Nerissa. You're second rank. You know the drill-kill any emissaries you see first, then anyone coming in."

She nodded. "Got it." He then turned to his mabari. "Pook, please guard Nerissa until I tell you otherwise. She's not got any armor." To Nerissa's amazement, the mabari not only did not bark, it _inclined its head _in acknowledgment and moved to her side. She gingerly patted Pooka's shoulders and that massive head turned and gave her hand another of those tiny licks.

They were at the top of the stairs before they were noticed. Corin could see one hurlock emissary, but even as he registered the darkspawn's presence, Nerissa had targeted the emissary, Petrifying and shattering him. Alistair knelt beside Leliana, Duncan's griffon shield covering her while she disarmed the trap. The darkspawn infantry started running forward and Corin and his people moved forward just enough to meet them and give the Dalish room to get to the top of the stairs so that they could shoot.

A second emissary came around the corner of a tower. This time, Nerissa didn't have to do things on her own. A number of Dalish bows, wielded by elves who had very recent memory of what emissaries could do, sang out. The emissary fell, so riddled with arrows that he looked like a practice target.

"Sweet!" the little mage cried, looking over in Mithra's direction and raising her staff in salute. The hunter actually unbent enough to grin back at her.

A few scattered darkspawn were dealt with, then they ventured cautiously around the tower themselves, into the wide space before the gates of Drakon. There were two more emissaries and ranks of archers and infantry.

"Woohoo! Time to deal some death from above!" Corin heard Nerissa cry, before she started to do just that upon the emissaries. Alistair grinned at him as they charged forward.

"She really _is_ the reason templars were invented," he panted.

"I'll say. I have to wonder if she isn't a little…off, after that business with Uldred."

"Probably is. I'm just glad she's pointed away from us!" Splitting off, they each picked an emissary to concentrate upon. Cleanses would interfere with Nerissa's spell-work as well, so they refrained from using them, even though it meant they took some damage going in. Once they'd both closed to hand-to-hand, things went much better. Very few emissaries could cast functioning spells in the midst of being shield-bashed into the ground. When they had slain their targets, they looked about to find a cluster of hurlock archers writhing in the midst of an Inferno, the arrow-ridden bodies of some genlock infantry at the far end of the courtyard-and an ogre charging up behind them.

"Race you!" Corin sang out with a grin. The two Wardens closed on the huge creature from either side, and made short work of it with a well-practiced dual attack. Not so flashy as the kill Alistair had made earlier or the ones Corin had done at Redcliffe, but dead was dead. Swords in hand, they looked swiftly about the courtyard, and found the situation under control. The way to the gates of Drakon lay open.

"There are a _lot_ of darkspawn beyond those gates, Corin," Alistair said, his brow furrowing as he concentrated his warden senses on the space beyond the gates. "At least a couple of emissaries and something else…dragons?" The strange sense of something draconian intensified suddenly.

"Take cover, everyone!" Corin shouted. "DRAGON!"

The Archdemon was indeed back, swooping over the Palace District. The Dalish scattered, taking shelter at the bases of towers and walls. Leliana, Nerissa and Pooka ran to join the two Wardens as they slid into the shadows of the gate towers.

"Is that someone on its _back_?" Nerissa exclaimed. Apparently, even Alienage elves retained some of their hunter ancestors' keenness of vision, for when Corin pulled out his spyglass and managed to focus it on the dragon, he could indeed see a figure on its back, plunging a sword again and again into its spine.

"It's Riordan," he told the others. "Maker, that man has _stones_!"

"He said he was going to take the blow. I just didn't think he was going to do it while _airborne_!" Alistair exclaimed.

"Well, we did ask how he was going to deal with a flying dragon," Corin murmured, struggling to keep the glass on the swiftly moving Archdemon. "Oh no, it's trying to scrape him off against a tower!" The shattering sound of the impact was distantly audible. "He's gone! No, he's still with it, but on the wing!" They could see the dragon climbing skyward over the city, then it screamed an ear-splitting shriek of pain. A small figure dropped away from it, falling somewhere back behind Drakon.

"Maker, _no_!" Alistair groaned. The Archdemon's flight became a spiraling fall towards the roof of Drakon. Corin kept the glass on it until it vanished behind the towers and crenellations with a thud that could also be heard, then lowered it and put it back in its case. He looked somberly at the others.

"Riordan sank his sword into the wing, trying to stay on, but the membrane wouldn't hold. He slid all the way down, splitting it as he went. Can Archdemons heal themselves, Alistair?"

"I don't know. I never heard one way or the other," Alistair said, his voice subdued.

"Because if they can't, Riordan just made this whole business remotely possible. It's on the roof and _it can't fly away_."

"_Let the blade pass through the flesh, Let my blood touch the ground, Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice_," Leliana intoned softly.

"From your lips to the Maker's ears, Leli. Maker keep his soul, he was a brave man," Corin murmured. Then he shook himself and returned to the business at hand, surveying the door thoughtfully. "Can you get this open, Leli?"

"I can unlock the mechanism, but it will take you strong backs to open it. Do you want me to start?"

"Yes, if you would. I wish I knew where Cauthrien was."

A hawk's cry pierced the air then, and Corin smiled.

* * *

><p>Nerissa saw the Prince step out into the open, his eyes alight. He threw his gauntleted arm up in the air in a falconer's gesture, something that puzzled her until a large hawk stooped from the sky and back-winged onto his wrist. It then hopped off of his arm, there was a golden shimmer and when it was gone, a black-haired woman in silverite armor and carrying a smoking staff was standing there instead. Nerissa remembered the woman from the Tower, the apostate mage Corin had brought with him. The apostate mage who apparently had access to a type of magic Nerissa had never heard of before. Covetous envy surged through her. <em><strong>I <strong>__want to be able to do that! I want to be able to __**fly**__!_

They walked over to the rest of the group.

"Morrigan! It is good to see you alive and well!" Leliana exclaimed.

"Leliana." Morrigan acknowledged the bard with the barest nod of her head. "Alistair." The other Warden didn't even rate that, but Pooka got his ears ruffled. The mabari's tail was wagging, so Nerissa figured Morrigan must be a decent enough sort despite her chilly demeanor.

The apostate's glance then passed over her and stopped. "What's this? _Another_ Circle mage who thinks she has the stuff to run with _us_?"

"She's done all right so far, Morrigan," Alistair growled, frowning. He had apparently decided Nerissa's honor needed defending. Or perhaps he liked Morrigan as little as she seemed to like him and it was simply an excuse for a quarrel.

To forestall that, Nerissa stepped forward. "Enchanter Nerissa Surana, Mistress Morrigan. I was…a bit under the weather when last we met, or I would have thanked you for saving the Circle then. I'd like to do so now."

Eyes golden as a hawk's surveyed her for a moment. Then Morrigan smiled. It wasn't the warmest smile Nerissa had ever seen, but it was a smile.

"Manners. They do crop up in the strangest places. Like stockings, as my mother was wont to say. And I should be wary, given what became of me the _last_ time I met someone so mannerly." She gave the Prince a meaningful look and he smiled back, a little sadly it seemed to Nerissa. "I do not see why you should thank me for preserving your prison, Enchanter, but you are welcome."

"It wasn't so much my prison as my life."

"Then you are very welcome."

"Would you indulge me by answering a question?"

"I make no promises, but ask."

"How is it that every mage with the Wardens is wearing _armor _and carrying _weapons_?"

"Ah. That. That is a trick that Corin picked up from an ancient Elven spirit in the Brecilian forest. The spirit was something known as an Arcane Warrior-a mage who also wore armor and possessed fighting skills. If we all survive this, I am sure that he or Wynne would be willing to teach you the way of it."

Meaning that Morrigan herself was not inclined to do so or was unable to for some reason. Nerissa nodded. "Thank you for indulging me."

"Again, you are welcome. But the time for any sort of indulgence at present is slim." She looked to the Prince. "Did you see what happened to Riordan?"

"We did."

"We had some fairly stiff fighting to do all the way in, but when I left to contact you, everyone but Riordan was well."

"What happened?"

"I am not entirely certain, to be honest. When we got into the part of the Palace District where the buildings were taller, Riordan picked one with a tower and insisted upon going up to the roof. We followed." Morrigan looked puzzled. "I do not know how or why he summoned the Archdemon, or if he even did so. But it was certainly eager to come after us once we were up there and visible. Perhaps it was because he was a Senior Warden and the taint in him called to it."

"Useful to know, if the thing manages to heal itself and fly again."

"Indeed. In any event, we all tried to fight it, with varying degrees of success. Cauthrien got a slash in along its ribs, while Riordan ran and threw himself off the tower and onto its back. I've never seen the like. But you know how that ended."

"Indeed."

"So where does that leave us?"

"Still needing to get up to the roof of Drakon and kill it."

"Shall we rendezvous with you here, then?"

"Please. We'll wait here for you and we'll all go into Drakon together."

"Then remain here and I shall return with the others forthwith." With that, she shimmered back into hawk shape and shot skyward.


	35. Chapter 35

Thanks to Guest, Tsuh Doh Nimh (I just now figured out your name-what can I say? I'm a little thick!), FireKing500, deadpool626, spectre4hire, xseikax, mille libri, Mike 3207, Suilven, lazyguy90, Zephyrical, none, JadeOokami, Jordan Mathias, Ronin Kenshin, Nightbrainzz, and karthik9 for your reviews for the last chapter.

I apologize for the long lag-I'm trying to desperately keep my vegetable garden alive in the middle of a drought (1-21/2 hours watering a day), I'm doing some major home sorting and cleaning and I'm getting ready for a vacation at the end of the month. AND I had to write a couple of one-shots for a fic exchange. So the next update might be a little late as well. But hopefully after that, things will start rolling along again.

* * *

><p>Anora and Eleanor watched the battle in the valley below with spyglasses, trying to find their loved ones, but finding it next to impossible in the chaotic, seething mass. The infirmary tents had been set up on the hill, farther from the main battlefield than was perhaps convenient, but also perhaps allowing some extra time to escape should the darkspawn prove victorious. The stretcher bearers bringing wounded to the tents could say little other than that the fighting was fierce and it seemed that an endless flood of darkspawn were coming out of the city and seemingly the very air itself.<p>

"They won't last long," Anora murmured to Eleanor when no one was in earshot. The dowager teyrna nodded.

"I hope the Grey Wardens were able to get into the city. If they don't and quickly…"

Both women were intelligent. Both were realists. Green eyes met blue.

"You _will_ leave if things go badly, Anora," Eleanor said firmly. "We will get you out of here and onto a ship. You carry the heir to the throne."

"Heir to a blasted wasteland, don't you mean? That is what Ferelden will be if the darkspawn win."

"But there will be survivors. And you owe a duty to them, even if the land itself is gone."

The Queen closed her eyes for a moment before answering. "I know. But it is hard to lose everyone you care about and soldier on, as you well know."

"Duty is a harsh mistress," Eleanor agreed. "But if the Maker troubles Himself to smile upon anyone, I think it is those who hold to their duty in the face of such sorrow. And sometimes they are rewarded. I never expected to see either of my sons again, and though they are both back in peril now, I am grateful beyond words to have had the opportunity."

"He's a lot like you, you know. Not in the face, but in the heart."

"I know." Eleanor's lips curled up in a loving smile. "My dear, unexpected, late blessing. Bryce and I had thought that Fergus was the only child we would ever have. And though the pregnancy itself was difficult, Corin was the sweetest babe! Never any trouble at all, always smiling. He was sweet as a child and an adolescent as well. He never went through that troublesome phase that some boys do." She lowered the spyglass, but was still staring out into the distance.

"I used to worry, you know. He had such charisma, such ability. I knew he'd never move against Fergus, nothing like that. But I did worry that if he didn't find some work of a sufficient scope to fully engage that ability, that he would sink into decadence. I thought that Cailan's idea was actually a good one."

"_Cailan's_ idea?"

"Yes. Do you remember the business with Bann Loren's tournament?"

"The Orlesian who got his hat handed to him?"

"That's the one. Afterwards, Cailan spoke to Bryce. Said he thought that it might be good to have some Fereldan cavalry and that perhaps since Corin was so good with horses, he should learn all he could from the Orlesians and help build us some."

Anora pondered that for a moment. "That _was_ a good idea. Corin would have really enjoyed doing that, I think."

Eleanor nodded. "And would have made a good job of it. But as things stood, destiny had another task for him."

"And he may well have been the only person in the kingdom who could have done it."

"Oh, I don't know about that. Heroes tend to rise when they are needed, sometimes in the strangest places. But I do think he is _one_ of the few people who could have done it."

"Your Majesty! My lady!" A voice they both knew was coming from the slope below. The two women looked and saw a rather bedraggled group of mages climbing the hill, Senior Enchanter Wynne at their head.

"All of you, go to the infirmary tent, start helping," she directed the mages, who headed off in that direction with what looked like relief on their faces.

"Have you any news, Senior Enchanter?" Anora asked.

"I do. Corin and Riordan split forces. The Senior Warden took Cauthrien and some of our people and set off over First Bridge into the Palace District. He and Cauthrien were going to try to lure the Archdemon to the roof of Fort Drakon. He set Corin and Alistair a different task. They were to kill the two darkspawn generals he'd sensed in the city. We met up with some of the younger mages in the Lower Market and cleared that easily, killing one of the generals. Then we had a hard fight in the Alienage and slew the other. The mages you just saw lost almost half their number in that second fight. They were unwilling to go on save for one, Enchanter Surana, so I brought them back here. Surana's with Corin now. He was in perfect health when I left him and was headed up into the Palace District after Riordan. That's all I know."

"Who is with Corin?" Anora asked.

"Sten, Leliana, Alistair, Pooka and Surana. And we passed some of the allies going into the city as we left. Some of the Dalish, the dwarves and Eamon's men. Hopefully, they will be able to help him as well."

"Thank you, Senior Enchanter. Any news of him would have been welcome and that it is good news makes it even more so."

Wynne nodded. "I'd best be off to do what I can for the wounded. Your Majesty, my lady." She bowed and departed for the infirmary tent. Anora and Eleanor turned their attention back to the battle.

* * *

><p>Before Morrigan could return with the rest of Corin's companions, some more allies made themselves known. There was the sound of hobnailed boots clattering on stone and Kardol came into view with a squad of Legion of the Dead and other dwarves. He marched up to Corin and leaned upon his axe.<p>

"Still cutting a line through the spawn I see, Warden," he said, his tattooed countenance grinning.

"I thought that a pleasant, unopposed walk would allow you to properly appreciate the beauty of Denerim, Captain," came Corin's dry response. Kardol cackled.

"You mean the fires and rubble, Warden? Much obliged, I'm sure! Despite the pretty scenery, I prefer to hunt darkspawn under the earth, although all the clouds have certainly helped with the sodding light!" He blinked a couple of times. "There are too many hiding places in this city. But we've done well for ourselves, regardless. You couldn't be everywhere, after all." He looked over at Mithra and bowed. "_Atrasta vala_, Hunter."

The Dalish bowed in return. "_Andraran atish'an_, Captain."

"Mithra," Corin said. The Dalish commander turned her attention to him. "I'm about to go inside Drakon. It's all enclosed, not the best place for archers. So you might be most efficient back down on the battlefield, where you can fight from the wooded verge. Alternatively, you could set up a perimeter here," and he gestured upwards at a couple of towers, "and try to mow down anything wanting to come in on my rear. But it's possible that the darkspawn are coming up from beneath the city in tunnels and not from outside at all. In which case you might be trapped. I shouldn't want that."

The hunter inclined her head. "It is good of you to have such care for your allies, Warden." She surveyed her followers. "I think we will make our way back out and give what aid we may to your brother."

"May your Creators honor you for the aid you've given me today. Good hunting, Mithra. _Dareth shiral_."

Mithra's green eyes met his and held them for a long moment. "And the best of hunting to _you_, Warden_. _Creators guide your sword. _Dareth shiral_." A swift gesture, and the elves were silently slipping away off down the stairs.

"Here's the situation," Corin said, turning back to the dwarves. "There are darkspawn beyond that door. Lots of them. I think there are at least a couple of emissaries and both Alistair and I are sensing something draconic."

"What's the plan?" the dwarven Legionnaire asked.

The Crown Prince shrugged. "We've got the door unlocked. Shove it open and hit the 'spawn hard. I'm just waiting for the rest of my people to rendezvous with us before we go."

"Was that one of your folk riding the dragon?" the dwarf asked, his craggy countenance almost sympathetic. Corin nodded somberly.

"Senior Warden Riordan was trying to slay the Archdemon, but he couldn't quite pull it off."

"If he doesn't have any kin, we'd be glad to return him to the Stone with our dead. Lots of Wardens there already, and trying that took a pair of big boulders." Murmurs of assent rose from the dwarves nearby.

"We can certainly discuss that after the battle," Corin agreed. "I'm hoping that the Archdemon can't heal itself, in which case Riordan did us a great service and it's stuck up there on the roof. We also left volunteers in the city when we evacuated it. We've seen no sign of them thus far, but if any of them are still alive, they might be holed up here in Drakon."

Kardol looked dubious. "It took us a while to get back up here, Warden, and some time for you to get to Redcliffe in the first place. You honestly think anyone's still alive in there?"

"I'm living proof you can survive almost anything. And I'd rather hope than not."

"There is that. Anything we need to be doing while we're waiting?"

"No. By all means find some shade and rest a bit."

The dwarves did just that, immediately pulling out flasks and gnawing upon what looked like some kind of jerky. Dried nug perhaps?

A few minutes later, Morrigan arrived with Oghren, Shale and Zevran. Corin was relieved to see them all alive and well. Surveying Shale's blood-spattered extremities, he asked, "Did you get sufficient crushing and smashing in, Shale?"

"A gratifying amount. I thank it," the stone golem rumbled in response. Shale's glowing white gaze passed over the dwarves and the rest of the party and settled on the elven enchanter. Her rocky brows drew down as much as they could. "Delightful. Yet _another_ mage. It would appear to be collecting them."

"Shale, Enchanter Surana. Enchanter Surana, Shale. Shale is a free golem."

"That is marvelous!" Nerissa exclaimed, though she looked a little nervous at being the subject of Shale's undivided regard. The golem, noticing this, preened a little.

"Yes, I am. And so long as the tiny mage doesn't try to whip a control rod out of one of its many pockets, we'll get along just fine."

"'Tiny mage'?" she asked, frowning a little. Corin quickly cut her off with a gesture.

"Shale's hobby is new and unique forms of nomenclature. You'll get used to it."

Nerissa took the hint and subsided. "I am pleased to meet you, Shale."

"Who's the kid?" the dwarf belched. "Didn't think they let kid mages out of the tower."

"Ah, my friend, you are obviously well past that fifth drink of yours," Zevran said, his eyes alight with interest. "She is neither child nor enchanter but an _enchantress_."

Corin awaited Nerissa's response to Zevran's advances with covert interest. From what he could tell, mages in the Circle seemed to be of two sorts-the licentious and the sheltered. She'd apparently dealt with the Antivan's ilk before, for she didn't turn a hair, merely smiling and saying, "You must be Master Arainai. Your reputation precedes you. As does yours, Master Oghren."

The dwarf took a swig from a flask he'd pulled off his belt. "Really?" he grunted. "Who you been talking to? The pike-twirler?"

"Who is the pike-twirler?"

Oghren gestured towards where Alistair was talking to a couple of the dwarves. "You know. Chantry Boy."

"Yes, him. And Leliana."

"Oh. Well, that's not so bad then."

"All right people," the Crown Prince said, then, loudly, gathering all eyes to him. "We're all here, so no since putting it off any longer. Let's go."

* * *

><p>There were a great many darkspawn in the courtyard of Drakon, more than Nerissa had yet seen in one place. A large, confined cluster of them all congregated on the stairs, barring the way to the keep proper. Nerissa could see at least two staffs among them.<p>

Leliana and Zevran took out the two groups of archers closest to them with a few well-placed grenades, but things quickly got stickier after that. She found herself next to Morrigan, the two of them combining forces to shoot the emissaries. They took down both of them, but she suspected there were a couple more at the back of the pack who were currently out of spell range.

The dragons were the biggest problem; young dragons that had apparently been trained in some way, for they were plowing into the party with blood-thirsty abandon. These were much larger than the dragonlings the Circle had kept and she was taken aback for a moment. But the heavy fighters moved to engage them without hesitation-the Prince and Oghren on one, the Qunari and the Warden on the other. Pooka was still at Nerissa's side, a reassuring presence. The dwarves were pressing forward against the darkspawn, Kardol bellowing orders and battle cries.

The dragon facing the Warden and the Qunari suddenly reared up and struck out with its foreclaws, lunging with its entire body weight behind it at Alistair, who went down under the attack. The dragon began tearing at him, trying to get through the armor as he tried desperately to get away.

Remembering what the Prince had said about spirit and cold magic, Nerissa let fly a Winter's Grasp, but it was resisted. So she broke away from Morrigan and ran forward, Pooka at her side until she was in range for Cone of Cold. Pooka tore out the throat of an opportunistic genlock as they went, but she hardly noticed, concentrating on targeting the dragon and not the Warden. This time the dragon succumbed to the spell, turning into a statue of ice for a few moments, which was just long enough for Alistair to pull himself out from beneath it and regain his feet. Seeing who his benefactor was, he threw her a quick grin and a salute with his sword before turning back to the dragon, who was thawing out. It seemed sluggish and disoriented from the spell and he and Oghren were able to finish it off quickly. The Prince and the Qunari had dealt with their dragon, assisted by Morrigan's cold spells, but the emissaries Nerissa had suspected were at the back of the pack had now moved forward and were wreaking havoc upon the dwarves.

Alistair ran over to join her, Oghren following more slowly on his shorter legs. "You should probably drop back a bit," the Warden commented. He was panting a bit, but very casual for someone who had almost been disemboweled by a dragon moments before.

"The dragon didn't hurt you, did it?" Nerissa asked worriedly. He shook his head.

"Good armor. It didn't have time to tear through, though I'll be bruised tomorrow." His face darkened and she didn't need magic to know that he was thinking _**if **__I'm still here tomorrow._

"I can't move back. The dwarves are taking a beating. I want to do something big and I need to be in range," she told him. "Can you keep the darkspawn off me for a bit? This will take a little time to set up."

Seemingly glad to be distracted from dark thoughts, he nodded and said, "Sure. Go ahead." He and the dwarf moved to front her and Nerissa began.

She'd read about this spell combination in the Circle library, but had never attempted it in fact, even after she'd been Harrowed and was safe from being made Tranquil. There was no need to rub Gregoir's nose in how powerful she really was. Setting her exclusions carefully, she began with Spell Might. This was the hardest part of the combination for her as spirit magic fell outside her usual area of expertise, but she'd studied the spell exhaustively and the surety she'd felt ever since she'd begun the day, that she was in the place she'd trained for all of her life, carried through. The power began to raise, raised and held in check just as it ought to be. When it was completed, she let the spell go, targeting the area right before the doors, where the greatest concentration of darkspawn were, then shifted immediately into Blizzard, followed by Tempest.

The temperature in the whole courtyard dropped immediately. The blizzard, boosted by Spell Might, was much bigger than anything she had ever thrown before, and it snarled with blue-white, snapping forks of lightning. The dwarves cried out in surprise as the storm exploded into being around them, but Nerissa's exclusions held and they were unharmed.

The drain was incredible. Every particle of mana she possessed flowed out of her and into the spells, driving her to her knees. She'd never felt such total emptiness in her life. It was almost akin to despair.

"_Maker's breath!"_ she heard Alistair Theirin exclaim.

"Ancestors' tits and ass!" the dwarf bellowed.

The Prince's helmeted head snapped around to look in her direction for a moment, then he bellowed, "Press them back into it! Keep them there!" and ran forward to do just that, Captain Kardol and the Qunari at his side. Morrigan, Leliana and Zevran were picking off any that managed to get past the heavy troops with spells and arrows.

A gauntleted hand was beneath Nerissa's elbow, helping her up. "Are you all right?" Alistair asked.

She managed a nod, her shaking hand groping for one of the bigger lyrium potions. Fumbling the cork out, she managed to raise it to her lips and drink. Blue fire poured down her throat and into the empty, gaping hole in the middle of her. The world, which had been looking watery and indistinct, solidified. She sighed in relief, leaning a little on that strong arm and watched as what she had wrought decimated the darkspawn.

"_Definitely_ the reason templars were invented!" Alistair declared. Nerissa stuck the tip of her tongue out at him once more and again he laughed. "Better now?"

"Yes. Thank you, Warden."

"You're welcome. I'd better get up there." She nodded and he and the dwarf dashed off towards the remaining darkspawn. Pooka whined as they went and she dropped her hand to ruffle his ears consolingly. "Go on up there if you like. I didn't mean to make you miss all the fun." The mabari gave her a long-suffering look, and stayed where he was. His demeanor plainly said that he'd been given a task and wasn't going to abandon it until his master gave him further orders.

About the time her Storm gave out, the darkspawn did too. Nerissa had fired off the odd staff blast during the rest of the battle, but did nothing else more strenuous-she was feeling a bit wrung out. When the battle was over, the Prince crooked his finger imperiously at her and she went to him, his dog still at her side.

Corin doffed his helm and tucked it under his arm, brushing his sweat-soaked hair back out of his eyes. Those keen eyes watched the dwarves gather their wounded, counting casualties for a moment. Then he turned back to her.

"What exactly _was_ that, if you don't mind my asking?" Alistair and Morrigan walked over as well.

"It's a three-spell combination called Storm of the Century," Nerissa answered simply.

"A multi-spell combination? I did not know such a thing was possible," came Morrigan's intrigued comment.

Nerissa gave the Wilder Witch a smile. "There are only a few of them recorded in the Circle library. I don't know if that's because those are the only ones that work, or because no one tries to invent any new ones."

Morrigan snorted. "Perhaps they did try and weren't around afterwards to write reports."

"That's also quite possible."

"That particular combination seemed to take a lot out of you," Corin observed. "Do you think you have another one in you? For the Archdemon?"

"If I can get the uninterrupted time to set it up, sure. But it is an area spell and it won't cover the whole roof. The Archdemon could move out of it."

"True, but if it has followers up there defending it, the spell could still help. Although," and here Corin's brow creased, "that time right afterwards when you're pretty much defenseless isn't something I like."

"If it helps to get the job done, does it really matter what happens to me, Your Highness?" Nerissa asked simply. "I've been training for this my whole life and now that I'm here, going back to run up and down stairs in the Circle tower doesn't seem particularly appealing."

"Perhaps not, but wasting an entire life's training on one battle isn't particularly efficient either," came his tart rejoinder. "The plan is to get the Archdemon and as many of the darkspawn as we can to die, while as few of us as possible die in return. If we end the Blight, I'd like to end it with _some_ of Ferelden's best and brightest still on their feet."

Nerissa's face heated at the implication that she was one of Ferelden's best and brightest. "Yes, Your Highness. I promise to do what I can to stay alive."

"Excellent! I'll make sure that someone is covering you. Alistair, will you look after Nerissa when we get to the roof?"

"Glad to."

"In the mean time, Nerissa, why don't you and Morrigan go help the dwarves. We'll see that they're healed all we can before we go on."

* * *

><p>Nerissa did as she was asked, moving over to a moaning dwarf who seemed to be more seriously injured than the others and starting to heal him. Morrigan was also working, since she possessed the basic healing spell as well. It intrigued Nerissa how the two of them shared many of the same spell proficiencies, given their very different upbringings.<p>

A shadow fell across where she was kneeling. Finishing her spell, she surveyed her patient's closed wounds and improved color and turned on her haunches to see the black-armored dwarf captain regarding her.

"My thanks for your help, Enchanter," he said in his deep voice. "My men and I appreciate it. And yours as well, Mistress Morrigan," he said, raising his voice slightly. Another snort was the only response from the Wilder Witch, who seemed to be in a mood.

"As you might imagine, we don't see mages much down in the Deep Roads," he continued. "That thing you just did-it came as a bit of a surprise, but it was certainly impressive."

"It works best when you can corner your enemy and not give them an escape," Nerissa admitted. "It should work well in tunnels or small cave chambers, but if the darkspawn could back out, I don't know how effective it would truly be."

"They could have backed out just now and didn't," Kardol pointed out. "Wanted us too badly. 'Spawn aren't always smart. We could use something like that down in Orzammar. Do you think King Harrowmount could get some mages to come down and fight with us? Not with the Legion of the Dead, of course. We wouldn't ask anyone to do what we do. But the regular troops could use the help. We'd make it worth their while, of course."

"Not every mage is a battle mage, Captain. Not all of them do what I do. A lot of them would be useless on the battlefield."

"Healers wouldn't be useless, even in Orzammar. We've got better physicians than the humans do, precisely because we don't have healing magic, but some magical healers, even ones stationed in the city proper, would save lives we'd otherwise lose. And we need every body we can get."

Nerissa thought about it for a moment, then smiled an evil smile. "The mages are under control of the Chantry. I'm sure you can think of a bargaining chip."

"The lyrium? I've noticed _you've_ a fondness for the Juice."

She shrugged. "I'm a mage. It's awfully hard to addict a mage. The power comes in and we send it right back out in spells. It doesn't stay around to rot our brains. I don't _have_ to have lyrium, though it certainly helps on the battlefield if you want to throw a lot of heavy spells fast. Otherwise, you have to wait around for your energy to recharge normally in between them. In fact, this is really the first time in my life I've used it so freely. Templars, on the other hand, are regular humans and they _are_ addicted. They _have_ to have it every day or they go into withdrawal. If you were to perhaps tell the Chantry you were going to re-negotiate the treaty about supplying them with lyrium, and that one of the conditions was that you wanted a certain number of mages stationed in Orzammar…I'm sure I don't have to tell you how to proceed. Dwarves know how to drive a hard bargain."

Kardol, grinned, his tattoos crinkling in an interesting manner when he did so. "That we do! I'll mention it to the other commanders, so that at least one of us can hopefully discuss it with the King after our return. My thanks, Enchanter." He inclined his head and stumped off towards one of his subordinate commanders.

Realizing that she might very well have just caused the Chantry a huge headache, Nerissa was grinning as well as she moved on to her next patient.

* * *

><p>When his mages were done with their healing, Corin conferred with Kardol.<p>

"You and your men did well, Captain. What would you like to do now? We're going up in the tower, and I know how you feel about heights."

Kardol grimaced. "I'm going to send the wounded back, Your Highness. The rest of us will keep our feet on the Stone and set up a perimeter here. Try to keep more 'spawn from coming in on your back."

Corin nodded. "Sounds like a plan, Captain. Thank you again for all of your help. _Atrast nal tunsha."_

Kardol's green eyes peered up at him. "And you as well, War…Your Royal Highness. You gave Orzammar a king. I hope you come to your own throne in time-you wield power like a dwarf king does. From the front of the battle."

Corin smiled, and extended his hand. The dwarf took it, clasped forearm to forearm. "The praise of the worthy is high praise indeed, Captain. Thanks again."

He released Kardol and turned to look at his non-Warden companions, who were all watching him with varying degrees of expectancy, but all seemed confident in themselves and in him. _Not daunting in the least, that! __**No**__ pressure, Corin! _For his part, he had a feeling, both kin to and unlike that he'd felt in the Landsmeet chamber. That he was in the place he needed to be, at the time he needed to be. But the very real prospect of death he'd faced that day was dwarfed by the inevitability and inescapable dread he felt now.

Then he looked over at his two fellow Wardens. Cauthrien's serenity was palpable and enviable. But Alistair's face showed that he shared Corin's trepidation.

"No sense putting it off," he said, forcing what he hoped was a plausible cheer into his voice. "We've got an appointment, people." His companions got to their feet, gathered behind him and they all walked into Fort Drakon.

* * *

><p>The Dalish spoke Ferelden with an accent, but clearly enough. "Your Majesty, my lady teyrna. Keeper Lanaya wished this message relayed to General Fergus and he asked me in turn to bring it to you. One of our hunters, Mithra, and a squad of our people assisted the Crown Prince in clearing the Palace District of darkspawn. Both Wardens were uninjured when Mithra was dismissed to rejoin the battle on the field."<p>

"Thank you and please thank your Keeper for us as well," Anora said gravely. "This is welcome news."

The Dalish nodded, obviously uncomfortable in the presence of shemlen. "_Dareth shiral_," she said, and bowed and departed.

Anora looked at Eleanor, knowing that the dowager teyrna was probably thinking the same thing as she. _They're in the Palace District already. Things are going well. Dare we hope? _She prayed to herself, silently, as she'd never prayed before in her life.

_Lady Andraste, savior of us all, look after Corin. You who have had a care for him already, protect him now in his fiercest trial. May Your favor continue to fall upon him, so that he will come back to me…_


	36. Chapter 36

Sorry about the long delay. I got ready to go on vacation and went on vacation. I'm also going through my entire house in a seventeen-year clean up as preparation for putting laminate floor down in most of the rooms. So it might be a while before I update, though I've got some of the next chapter done already.

Thanks to Rake 1810 for multiple reviews! And to jonnpark, Guest, RakeeshJ4 (multiples and your reviews are always so thoughtful and bring up things I hadn't thought of!), The-Demon-Of-Soul-Society, Zukafew119 (multiple reviews), Dmachin200, Tsuh Doh Nimh, Mike (x 2 in stealth mode and out of it!), mille libri, spectre4hire, JordanMathias, xseikax, karthik9, MrPowell, Blackholelord, lazyguy90, Suilven, JadeOokami, hub.1, FireKing500, and multiple guests for your wonderful reviews of the last chapter. Going back over them gave me the kick-start I needed to get this going again.

* * *

><p>The question of what had happened to Denerim's defenders was answered in part as soon as Corin and his people entered Drakon's first floor. There had obviously been a pitched battle at the doors, for corpses were scattered across the floor.<p>

"Less than a day old," Morrigan said, nudging one with her toe.

"Do you _mind_?" Cauthrien snarled. The Wilder witch looked at her in surprise, for the third Warden had said next to nothing in their travels and had certainly not spoken with the ire she exhibited now. Then realization dawned.

"Oh. My apologies. You knew some of these men, didn't you?"

"All of the ones from Gwaren," Cauthrien muttered, her eyes sweeping the floor. She moved to one of the bodies, unslung her cloak and spread it over the man. "Maker keep you, Taver," she said softly in benediction over the still form. Blinking a couple of times, she looked up at the Crown Prince. "They're not all here. And I don't see the Arl."

He nodded gravely. There was a presence up on the roof of Drakon, a huge, pulsing darkness that both oppressed and called to him. "Then perhaps we may save some of them yet. Let's go."

* * *

><p>Over the course of the next half hour, Nerissa learned a couple of new things. One was that although undead were bony and you would think that they would be resistant to most spells that burned or froze or crisped flesh, such was simply not the case. And another, that she didn't like shades <em>at all<em>.

The way that they billowed around you so that you couldn't see, then all of a sudden would solidify enough to strike at you and send you flying. That they were so amorphous that it was difficult to target them. The stench and the cold and the conjured whirlwinds. The teeth-grinding sense of _wrong_.

Corin and his people were in some sort of huge hall, complete with siege engines. What looked to be a darkspawn emissary had seemingly summoned several shades and vanished. Nerissa was frantically throwing spells at the unnatural things when Morrigan seized her free arm.

"No! Look for the _conjurer_, target him! He'll show up again, he has to. We need to target _him _or he'll be calling these things all day, wearing us down."

"But the-" Nerissa gestured at the battle going on around them.

"They'll be fine. They can handle a few shades. And they'll have less to handle if-" Morrigan's helmeted head swiveled suddenly. "There the little bastard is! _Get him_!"

The conjurer was at the opposite end of the hall, so Nerissa ran forward to close range and dropped a Fireball on him. Morrigan followed suit. The two mages then leveled their staffs as one and proceeded to hammer him with Arcane Bolts and Lightning. Shaken, the conjurer vanished in a puff of shade-like black smoke. Heads turning back and forth, the two women looked for him to reappear, which he did at the opposite end of the hall. Running around the verge of the shade battle, they engaged him once more, both staffs smoking cold as they unlimbered their ice spells together. Nerissa Petrified him, then Stonefisted him, and the combination did damage but did not kill him outright. What did kill him was the lightning follow-up from both mages.

The fighters and rogues finished off the shades. Corin looked towards where the two mages stood and sketched a bow. "Thank you, ladies." Morrigan inclined her head and Nerissa grinned at him. He gestured them forward.

"Onward, my friends."

* * *

><p>It was as if Fort Drakon had become some sort of darkspawn preserve or menagerie. The party was encountering all the sorts of 'spawn they had met before, as well as a few interesting new varieties. That conjurer, for instance, had been both like and unlike the shaman-like one they'd encountered at Ostagar, who had been far and way front-runner for The Most Annoying Darkspawn Corin Had Ever Met.<p>

The young Warden Prince listened with half an ear to the chat behind him, as they worked their way through the barracks on the second floor. It was becoming increasingly harder to think of anything other than that malevolent thing on the roof and from Alistair's and Cauthrien's occasional glances upwards, he could tell they were feeling it as well.

He wondered if he should have stopped Leliana and Zevran from looting the belongings of Drakon's most likely dead defenders, but he didn't see the point. If his people came away from this with their lives, they would deserve everything he could reward them with.

What was a more interesting distraction was the way Morrigan and the little enchanter had hit it off. Corin supposed that it was understandable-Nerissa's "Gee! An _apostate_! _Excellent_!" was bound to go over better than Wynne's oft-stated belief that apostates were one and all untrustworthy and blood mages in the making. Nevertheless, Morrigan did not usually warm to people so quickly as she had to Surana, and it was intriguing to her lover.

"You have to do the Spell Might first," Nerissa was explaining earnestly. "Do you have anything like that?"

"I don't know. I've not completely studied Mother's main grimoire yet. But I cannot imagine her not having it or something similar, useful as it is for augmenting power."

"Well, anyway, you lay it down first, then the other two on top it. First Blizzard, then Tempest. Of course, you can also use it to boost either of them separately or Firestorm, for that matter. Are you sure you have to leave in such a hurry? I could teach you the spell or write it down for you."

"You would give an apostate such a powerful spell?" Morrigan asked in disbelief. "I'm sure Wynne would not approve. Isn't she your superior?"

"Hey, we're comrades-in-arms, aren't we?" This was followed by a decidedly vulgar suggestion about where Wynne could put her approval or lack of it, which drew an amused snort from Morrigan. "Besides," Nerissa continued. "Wynne may have been involved in saving the Circle, but you were there too and I like you a whole lot better, even after such short acquaintance."

There was a moment's silence, then Morrigan spoke again. "About the shape-changing business. I didn't mean to be rude about it earlier. But the fact of the matter is that you can't shape-change until you intimately know the ways and habits of the creature you wish to become and I can't see you having much access to wildlife at Kinloch."

Nerissa sighed despondently. "No, you've got that right, and I get out more than most. I guess I could study lake birds, learn to become a duck or something."

"While it is true that ducks blend in well, at least close to water, people also see them and think of roast duck with crackling. I guarantee that if you're shot as a duck you'll be just as dead if you're shot as a human. You might want to study something less…palatable."

"See? You're good at this survival stuff. Most Circle mages don't even know to _think _of stuff like that. We're like…like fat little geese that have been kept penned so long they can't fly and wouldn't survive in the wild if they were released. Well, maybe except for Anders."

"Anders?"

"Yes. He was a spirit healer, came to us from the Anderfels when he was twelve. And because he came so late, he didn't much care for being pent up in the Circle. He had escaped five…no, I think it was six times when I left for the war. Needless to say, Gregoir left him behind under guard, despite the fact that he's a great healer. He was a friend of mine and I'm worried about him. If he keeps this up, he'll be Tranquiled or maybe even killed."

"Yes, because of course if you're a mage, knowing your own mind and wishing to be free is a killing offense," Morrigan said dryly.

"I'm no fan of Gregoir myself, you know."

"I can't see why you would be. After all, he was willing to sit outside that door and let the innocent mages and children perish while he and his men twiddled their thumbs and waited for the Rite of Annulment."

"Exactly." A moment of silent camaraderie happened between the women. Corin remembered the rage he himself had felt, upon first encountering Wynne, Petra, Kinnon and the children and realizing how close they were to the sealed door. While he could sympathize somewhat with Gregoir's stance on saving the rest of Ferelden from the abominations, he'd personally never found abominations all that difficult to deal with, much preferring facing them to an uncorrupted and competent mage. The knight-commander's hand-wringing over the possibility of slain innocents while he himself was safe outside had seemed more than a bit hypocritical to Corin. And his insistence upon imprisoning Morrigan, after she'd been instrumental in resolving his problem had been the last straw as far as the Prince was concerned.

"If a hypothetical Circle mage _were_ somehow able to master a form and shape-shift," Morrigan was speaking again, "my suggestion would be something that could fly, preferably a raptor. Sparrows blend in well, but they are prey for too many things. Then I would suggest that said mage make a serious study of outdoor survival. Perhaps if said mage were elvish, she might talk to some of the Dalish before they return to their forests and learn what she could from them. Then, when the mage was ready to make a break, the wisest course of action would be to go to some place wild, perhaps the Korcori, and hole up somewhere remote."

"The templars would track the Circle mage with the mage's phylactery," Nerissa said.

"I would certainly hope so. It would be best if they did."

"Huh? I don't follow."

"The Korcori marshes would be an excellent choice. A bird can fly above terrain that will whelm an armored man. Flying there, the mage would have time to establish a camp and set magical and physical traps. If the mage were a healer and were willing to help the Chasind, they would leave her alone and might even help. When the templars came, it would be possible to pick them off one by one and acquire the phylactery and destroy it. It is also possible that it might be lost beyond recall in the marshes. Either possibility would serve. The mage would be free-or at least untraceable by their damned blood magic."

"But she'd have to kill people."

"Yes, she would. People who do not regard her as a real person. People who would be ready to kill her outright or worse yet, strip her of everything that made her what she was and turn her into a soulless puppet to dance to their whim and put gold in their pockets. Freedom has a price, Enchanter."

The elf mage's voice was very soft. "Have you killed templars, Morrigan?"

"Yes. Upon several occasions. And as I wish to continue walking free, I will probably have to kill more of them in the future. It's them or us, Surana. It always has been."

"I see." Nerissa fell silent then, and Corin suppressed a smile. It appeared that Morrigan's friendliness had actually been intended to sow discord and rebellion and was quite in character after all!

* * *

><p>"Well, well, well…" Alistair drawled softly, his hand upon the door. "Genlocks, lots of them. And from the way they're arranged, they've all got bows trained right on the door."<p>

"Area spells would seem to be called for then," Corin said, his brow arched thoughtfully. "All right then, here's what we'll do. Sten, you catch the door. Alistair, you shield Nerissa and I'll cover Morrigan. We'll let the girls start their spells and Sten, you yank it open when they're about to go off, then close it as soon as they do. The rest of you, stay back. Once the spells are finished, we'll all go in to mop up. Everyone understand?"

"Yes, _kadan_," Sten said in his deep voice, while nods and murmurs of assent came from the others. Nerissa moved forward with Alistair, then hesitantly slid into the space between his body and the shield. The mabari dropped back as she did so. Alistair's bulk radiated warmth and a not-unpleasant scent of steel and leather and clean man-sweat. She made a brief experimental pass with her staff around the edge of the shield, then looked up at him. His brown eyes crinkled at the corners when he grinned.

"You good to go, Enchanter?" She nodded, then looked over to where Morrigan had done the same with Corin. The Prince's face was impassive, but there was possessiveness plain in the way his shield arm curved around the Wilder witch.

"Begin, ladies," Corin commanded, and they did. It all went according to plan. Sten yanked the door open at just the right moment and fire and ice sheeted into the room. A rain of arrows were shot in return, but the door and the warriors' shields spared the mages any damage. The Qunari slammed the door shut, then grunted as bodies began to impact upon it. Corin and Alistair joined him in bracing it shut, which they managed to do until the roaring and crackling sounds ceased in the other room. When the door was yanked open again and they all poured into the room, they had to clamber over a windrow of bodies that had fallen against it to get to the few disoriented darkspawn who remained. It was short work to take care of the rest of them.

Nerissa looked around at the room, which seemed to be a large armory or salle. "Why didn't they just move back out of the spells?" she asked the Prince. "There was plenty of room for them to do so." Corin shrugged.

"Most likely because they knew we were on the other side of the door. Darkspawn seem compelled to attack humans, even when it would be in their better interest to retreat."

"It almost seems…sad, somehow."

She thought he would laugh at her, but he just nodded, his blue eyes thoughtful. "It does, doesn't it? They don't ask to be what they are." He gave her a smile, but it looked a little strained. "Let's go back out. If I remember correctly, there is another way out of here."

* * *

><p>They went back into the antechamber, which was full of weapon racks. There was another door there, one that Corin knew led ultimately to the roof and he was about to open it when Leliana laid her hand upon his arm and stopped him.<p>

"Traps. Lots of traps, just beyond that door," the bard said, her pretty face frowning.

"There's something else too," Alistair said. "Darkspawn, but they keep…flickering."

"I feel it too," the Prince said, his brow furrowed. "Rogues, maybe? Be wary, everyone." He moved to open the door again, only to be stopped by Cauthrien this time.

"I'll do it, Highness." He nodded, stepped back with Starfang held at the ready, then gestured to Zevran.

"Zev, watch Leli's back when she's dealing with those traps." The Antivan nodded, his sword and dagger drawn, his gold-brown eyes flickering everywhere about the room.

Cauthrien threw the door open and chaos erupted. Gouts of black smoke filled the room and suddenly there were darkspawn among them. The most formidable-looking one materialized directly behind Corin, but Oghren was upon it immediately. Another one had appeared rather unfortunately in the corner closest to the golem, who leapt with surprising swiftness to the task of trying to pound it into the wall.

The third appeared directly behind Alistair, daggers raised to drive into his back. Nerissa, with no foes upon her, saw it from the corner of her eye, spun and did a Winter's Breath. Sten, who was closest to the warden, swept his greatsword down in the next moment in a powerful blow and shattered the frozen darkspawn. Alistair jumped, turned to look over his shoulder, then grinned ruefully at the two of them.

The leader of the darkspawn never stood a chance between Oghren, Cauthrien, Morrigan and Corin himself. There appeared to have been only three and as the first two were killed, everyone turned their attention to Shale, who was single-handedly dealing with the third. No one seemed inclined to get in the golem's reach as her powerful fists battered the spawn into paste against the stone. Eventually the slamming blows ceased. Her blood-spattered rocky head turned to survey her audience and she grinned, her stony face somehow radiating a gruesome cheer.

"Well, that was bracing, wasn't it? Shall we find more things to kill?"

* * *

><p>Leliana and Zevran moved into the next room. The bard began disarming the traps while Zevran stood guard over her.<p>

"Looks like some officer quarters here, my studly prince," he commented, his expression hopeful. Corin just sighed, shaking his head.

"Go ahead, you two."

* * *

><p>"Thanks, Sten," Alistair told the Qunari, who grunted in response. He then came over to Nerissa. "Thanks to you as well, Enchanter," and <em>patted the top of her head again<em>. This was getting to be a habit with him.

Irritation filled the little elf mage, for it was hardly the first time in her life that a lack of stature had caused a dearth of respect. She crooked her finger at Alistair.

"Come down here, Warden Theirin." When he obliged her and bent down, she stared at him nose to nose for a moment, her smoldering, green-hazel eyes boring into his puzzled brown ones. Then, moved by an impulse she didn't understand in the least, she threw her arms around her neck and mashed her lips against his.

Their noses bumped, and he jumped, his eyes widening. She tightened her grip, hearing the dwarf's ribald cackle behind them. She'd only kissed a couple of times in the Circle, she was hardly what one would call experienced, but after the initial moment of surprise Alistair didn't seem to be protesting. Ending the kiss and releasing him, she glared up at him.

"_Not_ a child. Got it?"

He seemed bemused for a moment, until he got a look at that glare, whereupon he hurriedly acknowledged, "_Yes_, ma'am! Not a child. Definitely."

There was a snort from the Qunari, and Nerissa turned to him. He acknowledged her with an inclination of the head.

"You were awfully quick with that sword, Sten. We make a good team."

Another nod. "Apparently so, _bas-saarebas_."

"What does that mean?"

"A _bas_ is a foreigner, one not of the Qun. _Saarebas _is what we call our mages. It means, literally, 'a dangerous thing'."

"Really? That's awesome!"

The Qunari gave her a disapproving, purple-eyed stare. "It was _not_ meant as a compliment."

"Oh."

* * *

><p>They were almost there. Corin remembered this hall from his last trip up to the roof. This hall, a large chamber, then steps and another door. The roof and the Archdemon…At this distance, the source of the Taint almost overwhelmed its lesser manifestations, but Corin extended his Warden senses through the door anyway, knowing that there was most likely some formidable resistance blocking their way and needing to know what it was. After a moment of intense concentration, he was able to discern that opposition. Surprisingly, it was not as bad as he thought.<p>

"Two ogres and an emissary," he said, looking at Alistair, who nodded confirmation. He then looked at Cauthrien, who was eyeing the door with a look of intense concentration. "Can you feel them, Cauthrien? It's difficult for me with the Archdemon up there."

"I'll say!" muttered Alistair.

She nodded. "I think I'm beginning to. The ogres just feel…bigger. And emissaries make me…itchier than the regular darkspawn do."

"Continued practice will enable you to refine it until you're pretty precise. You'll be able to sense exact numbers and locations." He looked around at his people. "The ogres are on either side of the room, the emissary is on the far side closest to the roof door. I've got the ogre on the right; Alistair, you take the left. Cauthrien and Leli, you're with Alistair; Oghren and Zev with me. Sten, Pook, Nerissa, Morrigan, Shale-take care of the emissary. Everyone know what to do?"

A muted chorus of assent answered him. Corin hit the door hard, and it burst open.

They had worked together as a group for a year, and it showed, everyone turning to their assigned tasks with smooth dispatch. The two new members, Cauthrien and Nerissa, were both quick studies and meshed with the party as if they'd been there all along.

Corin took down his ogre as he'd done the ones at Redcliffe, Oghren and Zev attacking it from behind. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cauthrien leap gracefully upwards to skewer the other one while Alistair and Leli flanked it. Once the ogre was slain, he spared a look towards where the emissary had been. He'd heard the crackle of a chain lightning spell and did not know if it had been Nerissa or the emissary. Sten and Shale were standing behind a table and over something he could not see. Pooka's seemingly unscathed hindquarters and tiny tail were visible around the table's edge. Both Morrigan and Nerissa looked a little dazed, by which he gathered that Sten had probably unlimbered a Cleanse to counter the emissary.

"Everything all right over there?" he asked. The golem nodded.

"Oh yes. The darkspawn mage is dead. Squishing mages is always _so_ satisfying…" She ignored the glares shot at her by both Morrigan and Nerissa. Sten wiped his blade and sheathed it.

"All is well, _kadan_. Is the final battle nigh?"

Corin looked towards the door and frowned, hearing the sounds of battle. The remainder of the men who'd stayed, perhaps?

"In a moment, Sten. Let's catch our breath. Leli, Zev, would you investigate those alcoves please? The two of you stick together."

The two rogues moved into the first of the alcoves that stood on either side of the hall. He heard Leliana's happy exclamation.

"Corin! There are potions down here! _Lots_ of them!" She returned with an armful of healing and lyrium potions, including a super-powerful bottle of each. Corin raised his eyebrows. Emergency stores for the keep? He took the potions and began distributing them among his companions as Leliana hastened over to the other alcove. The powerful lyrium potion was offered to Morrigan, who shook her head.

"Give it to Surana, so she can do one of those big spells of hers."

The little elf accepted the potion, and tucked it somberly into her pouch of pockets. She looked a little green. There was nothing wrong with her ears, even if she couldn't sense the overwhelming waves of Taint. The Archdemon was roaring.

Leliana was soon back with more potions, which were also distributed. There was no more putting off of the inevitable. It was time.

Corin cleared his throat and spoke. "No one could ask for any better, braver companions. I have been so fortunate in my friends. Thank you all."

The next moment, he was being embraced by Alistair, Leliana and Zevran all at once.

"The best brother anyone could ever have," Alistair murmured by his ear.

"Let's make sure this is not a tragic song, shall we?" Leliana suggested. "I'd rather write a happy one."

"_Signore_," Zevran breathed, but his sun-kissed face was sober for once and he communicated a wealth of meaning in that one word.

When he was released, Corin looked around at the others.

"It has been an honor, _kadan,_" came Sten's rumble.

"It should make an extra effort not to be squished in the next little bit. I should hate to step in it by accident," noted Shale. "I might slip and that would be _so _awkward!"

"Good on you, laddie," came Oghren's uncharacteristically soft voice.

As the newcomers, Cauthrien and Nerissa had drawn together watching the farewells. Cauthrien gave Corin a nod of acknowledgment when the others released him and his glance crossed hers.

"Let me take this, Highness," she said softly. "Believe it or not, it is what _he_ would want me to do."

"I'm not looking for it, Cauthrien, believe you me. But I'm not going to avoid it either. If it falls to me, I'm making the kill. I know that you two will do the same." She nodded, as did Alistair. The three Wardens shared a moment of mutual resolve, then he turned to his mages.

Nerissa gave him an impressively bright smile, for all of her fear. "It's been great, Your Highness. I wouldn't have missed this day for anything! Beats running those stairs all hollow!"

"I just wish we'd met you sooner, Enchanter Surana. You would have been a boon companion this last year." She grinned, obviously very pleased.

He turned at last to face Morrigan.

* * *

><p>For one instant, the confidant mask slipped and Corin was just a scared young man going out to face death. Morrigan was the only one who saw it and when she did, her hard-held resolve broke.<p>

_Always, I have made him ask. Ask for every kiss, every embrace. He has never taken anything more than I was willing to give. Just this once, he will not have to ask for what has always been his!_

Her helm clattered unnoticed onto the stone floor as she stepped forward and reached for his. Startled, he nonetheless managed to catch the golden dragonbone by the strap as she pulled it off his head.

"_Beloved_," she declared publicly for the first and last time and stretched up to wrap her arms around that strong young neck, lips locking with his, her fingers tangling in his sweat-soaked black mane.

His arms immediately clamped around her in turn and there was a creak as silverite and dragonbone ground together. And then there was nothing but Corin's lips, his tongue, his scent, his arms crushing her. She drank it in through her very pores, for it was going to have to last for a lifetime. For what seemed a blissful eternity the two of them were locked together, oblivious to the fascinated (and in Alistair's case, appalled) stares of their compatriots.

The Archdemon roared again, more loudly, loud enough to shake the room. Almost a challenge it seemed, and she watched as Corin came back to himself. He loosened his grip upon her and blinked swiftly a couple of times. Pressing his forehead to hers for a moment, he murmured, "Thank you, my love. For everything." Then his head lifted and the mask was back, that face of diffident confidence they would have all cheerfully followed into the Fade. He stepped away from her and put his helm back on as they all gathered around.

"There are ballistas up here. We're going to use them-Cauthrien and I know how. I seriously doubt the Archdemon is immune to tree trunks being shot through it! We'll soften it up with them, then close for the kill. Two parties across the roof from each other. That way, hopefully whichever way it moves, we can still bring a ballista to bear. Cauthrien, you take Alistair, Leliana, Nerissa and Shale with you. Morrigan, Zevran, Oghren and Sten, you're with me. Pook, you stay with Nerissa." The mabari whined in protest. Corin came over and ruffled his ears.

"She needs your help, old friend. I'll be all right." Suddenly, two huge paws were on his shoulders and a washrag tongue was laving his face. Corin laughed, the carefree laugh of the boy he'd once been.

"Thanks, Pook! Good to know I'll meet the Archdemon with a clean face!" He squeezed the massive shoulders, then the mabari dropped back down and returned to the enchanter. Corin moved to the roof door. That intense blue gaze swept his companions one last time.

"Let's go do this."

The door opened and a blast of corruption hit them.


	37. Chapter 37

Thanks to Ventisquear (for finally dipping her toe in!), Tsu Doh Nimh, The-Demon-of-Soul-Society (yes, I'm bad about cliffhangers...), Suilven, Mike (x2!), csorciere, none, FellowNrd, Reader, spectre4hire, SgtGinger (x 2!), Sacred Bob (not dead, just resting!), Ronin Kenshin, Nightbrainzz, greggsmk, JordanMathias, karthik9 and lazyguy90 for your kind words since last I updated, and to Rake1810, who wrote multiple reviews for multiple chapters at one go, which is much appreciated!

Finally, we get down to it.

* * *

><p>It seemed to fill the world, all purple-blue malevolence. Nerissa had never seen anything so big. The dragon-fire was not fire as such, but rather a spirit-damaging gout of corruption. Nerissa choked back a scream as it hit her, and seemed to reach <em>inside <em>of her to burn her soul. She froze, stunned.

Alistair Theirin saved her, interposing his shield and armored bulk between her and the blast. When it was over, he grabbed her elbow and hauled her with him.

"Big, isn't it?" he remarked conversationally as they ran after Cauthrien towards the ballista on the far side of the courtyard, but she noticed that his face was very pale.

* * *

><p>There <em>were<em> some defenders left, little more than a handful. They were up here on the roof, trying to fight the Archdemon and its attendant darkspawn all by themselves. Corin's heart leapt in his chest with pity as the huge creature bit one of them in half while crushing another beneath its foot. _Gwaren has paid its honor debt in full! _But there was nothing he could do to help them at present, save for killing the monster.

He ran to the ballista platform he'd chosen, his people right on his heels. It appeared to be undamaged, which was encouraging. He'd feared that one or more of the siege engines would have been crushed when the Archdemon crashed upon the roof, but that appeared not to be the case.

There was a smear of blood going up the ramp. Following it, he found the Arl of West Hills under the ballista itself, his left leg red ruin. Gallagher Wulffe was pale with blood loss, but he cracked his eyes open when Corin leaned over him.

"You made good time, Your Highness!" he croaked in surprise. "We weren't expecting _you_! Just figured Fergus had decided to get off of his ass at last."

"Quiet now," Corin said, uncorking one of his bigger health potions. "You rest. You've done more than enough."

The arl tried to shove the potion away. "Let it be, boy. Save that for someone else. I've nothing left and am happy to go."

"Ferelden has not released you yet, Gallagher Wulffe. She still needs you. Anora and I need you. Drink this-it's not a request."

That actually made the arl grin feebly. "You've got sand, I'll give you that! Didn't take long for the royal manner to catch on with you, did it?" He drank the potion and the lines of pain in his face eased a bit. "There. That's enough to hold me until this is over, one way or the other. Don't waste another."

"All right. I'm going to move you out of the way. We need the ballista."

"By all means. Good idea."

Corin dragged Wulffe carefully to the back edge of the platform, where he would be out of the way. The arl bit back a groan-he was obviously still in pain-but he did not protest. Oghren started cranking the ballista back as soon as he was clear. Sten, Morrigan and Zevran were dealing with any darkspawn who got too close, the Qunari covering the other two while they shot spells and arrows.

There was a click loud enough to sound even over the battle as the ballista's cocking mechanism engaged. Corin levered one of the pile of bolts up and laid it in the groove. He looked over at Oghren who was ready with the aiming cranks, then at the Archdemon, who was in the center of the courtyard. A bit of a long shot, but judging from where Cauthrien was, they could each hit it as it was currently positioned. She'd had a longer way to go than he had and was just cranking her own ballista back.

"Up about two hands' span, Oghren, then about a foot to the left," he directed. The dwarf immediately complied. He was either familiar with siege engines or dwarves just had a natural knack with such things. "Watch yourselves, people!" Sten, Zevran and the mages hastily moved out of the way. Corin hit the firing lever himself.

THWUNG! With a reverberating, bass twang the bolt shot forward, arcing a bit as it left the ballista. It hit the Archdemon right behind the left wing. A gout of black-purple blood exploded from the monster.

"YES!" the Crown Prince of Ferelden cried. _We __**might**__ just be able to do this! _

"Take that, you sodding, nug-humping excuse for a lizard!" the dwarf roared. A sense of hopeful cheer suffused the party.

The Archdemon roared in pain and swiveled its head in their direction, its white eyes seeming to recognize Corin. As their gazes crossed, a jolt of recognition came over him as well and just for an instant there was a moment's desire to run forward, to abase himself to his master…

He shook it off just as the huge mouth opened. "Zev, _down!" _The monster spewed another corruption blast at them. It was not of much concern to the more heavily armored among them-it hurt, but did not incapacitate. But the drakeskin-clad assassin was vulnerable. Fortunately, the Antivan had enough experience with dragons to know this and was already diving down flat on the ground behind the ballista platform parapet.

The blast washed over them, everyone ducking their heads and turning their faces aside. The instant that it was over, Zevran arose from his refuge and began shooting again. For the moment they had no opposition from the darkspawn, so he pulled one of his ice arrows and fired at the Archdemon itself. Morrigan was firing staff blasts and Arcane Bolts non-stop. Oghren began cranking the ballista back again. There was the muted sound of the other ballista firing from across the courtyard, another thudding impact and the Archdemon turned its attention away from them to the other cheering Wardens and their associates. But it didn't move from its position. The latch engaged and Corin lifted and laid another bolt.

"Leave her as she is, Oghren." He threw the lever. Another hit! Sten ran over to help the dwarf crank again. The ballista creaked in protest as it was drawn back once more, more swiftly this time with two sets of strong arms on the crank.

Across the courtyard, Nerissa was doing the same as Morrigan and Leliana's bow was thrumming constantly. Cauthrien, Alistair and Shale were working the other ballista, frantically cranking it back while Pooka stood guard over the mage and the bard.

The Archdemon threw up its head as Corin's third bolt hit it and _shrieked_, a long, prolonged, horrible noise unlike anything they had heard before from a dragon, a noise that made them wish to clap ears to heads and scream themselves to drive out the unholy racket pounding in their brains. Then it leapt, ungainly with its damaged wing and fell upon Cauthrien's people. Corin swore under his breath in fear for Alistair and the others and also because the Archdemon was now out of optional ballista range and to take aim upon it might mean they could possibly hit their friends as instead.

"Switch positions!" he called, resisting the urge to go to their rescue more directly. The ballista bolts were doing much more damage to the Archdemon then he and his folk would, milling about its feet with their tiny weapons. _Why did it go after __**them**__, when we had fired more bolts? Was it because there are __**two**__ Wardens over there to my one?_

There was no way of knowing. "Good luck, lad!" Arl Wulffe called as Corin took off diagonally across the courtyard towards a ballista that could be brought to bear. He was followed immediately by the others, who did not question the order though their heads were turning to watch the Archdemon as they ran.

* * *

><p>Nerissa saved them. She'd just taken a lyrium potion to counter the drain of the continual spells when the Archdemon was suddenly <em>there, <em>right on top of them, its fore-claw crushing the ballista's prod. Leliana rolled out of the way, Pooka actually had to scramble out from beneath its chest and Nerissa, atavistic terror taking over, let fly a Petrify at point-blank range with all of the strength of the blue fire running through her veins. And it _worked_! For one moment the huge monster was frozen in the middle of its attack.

"Run!" barked Cauthrien. "That one over there!" and she gestured to another of the ballistas. They peeled out towards the other siege engine, Leliana in the lead, Cauthrien close behind, moving incredibly swiftly for someone in heavy armor. Alistair was to one side of Nerissa, Pooka leaping along at the other. Shale trailed them, but not by much. It was the fastest that anyone had seen the golem ever move.

A small clot of darkspawn moved towards them. Nerissa paused to drop a Fireball and a Cone of Cold on them, which pretty much ended any immediate threat from that quarter.

"Thank you, Nerissa," Cauthrien said between panting breaths, when they'd reached their destination. She and Alistair were already cranking the new ballista together, not waiting for Shale.

"You're welcome, Warden." Nerissa was shaking, that emptiness threatening to overwhelm her again. She popped the cork on another of the smaller potions and tossed it back. The world steadied beneath her once more.

"You need to be careful with that stuff," Alistair panted in concern, moving to the aiming levers. Shale had come up and was loading the bolt onto the carriage. "Hold off a while before you take any more. We're all right for now-none of them are close and we'll do more damage to the Archdemon than you will. You don't need to shoot for a bit."

She nodded, and leaned on her staff for a moment. It would be good beyond words to take a breather, but…_He doesn't understand. It was for __**this **__day that I must have been born! If we fail, there will be nothing left. So why would I __**not**__ spend myself to the utmost? _

Nerissa was not so self-interested as Morrigan, but having tasted freedom, there was no great desire in her to return to the closed-in, cloistered, regimented world of the Circle.

To go back to running stairs, studying accounts of old battles, honing her magic to no good cause. To have Gregoir watching her ceaselessly, wishing he'd obliterated everything that made Nerissa Nerissa a long time ago. She finally understood what had driven Anders.

_Strange though it may seem, this day is the greatest gift I could ever have been given. The chance to do something that __**matters**__, of my own free will. And I will __**not**__ waste it!_

_Thwung! _went their new ballista. The bolt sank into the Archdemon's flank and it roared again. Nerissa raised her staff once more.

* * *

><p>The dwarf's shoulder was heavily bandaged and still managing to seep red. He definitely looked in need of the hospital tent. But he was steady enough on his feet as he spoke to Anora and Teyrna Eleanor.<p>

"The General told me to talk to you ladies since I was on my way up here anyway. The Prince is in Drakon. We had a bruising fight at the gates, but he and his people were fine when they went in. Warden Riordan died trying to kill the Archdemon, but we've still got three Wardens left. Or did when I left them."

"Thank you so much for telling us," Anora said. "Please, go get your wounds treated." The dwarf nodded and moved off with more dwarves gimping and groaning behind him.

"He's in Drakon. They've made good time," Eleanor noted. "Maybe…maybe they'll pull it off."

Anora nodded. Just then, a chilling shriek filled the air, echoing across the valley. Distant as it was, it still resonated fear and anger. There was a shift over the battlefield as _every darkspawn on the field paused, looked up and then left off fighting to begin pouring back through the gates into Denerim._

It only took an instant for Anora to realize what that meant. "Maker, they're not _in _Drakon! They're on the roof, fighting it _now_!"

Eleanor's green eyes met hers bleakly. "And if they don't kill it before all those darkspawn reach them…" She trailed off, but both women knew the answer.

_Then they are dead and Ferelden with them._

"Anora," the teyrna said gently. "You might want to have the coach readied. Just in case."

* * *

><p>Kardol had his men ranged before the doors of Drakon. They'd heard the Archdemon's scream, but had seen no action since the Prince and his people had gone inside. Now there was the clatter and clank of approaching armor. It did not sound like darkspawn armor, but he readied his troops nonetheless. Pikes were grounded, crossbows cocked and swords drawn.<p>

Arl Eamon and a squad of Redcliffe knights poured into the courtyard. He had some of the Circle mages with him. Spying Kardol, he gestured to the dwarf to join him. The Legionnaire ran down to his level.

"We've got trouble," the arl gasped. "_Every _darkspawn on the field just left off fighting Fergus' men and is headed up here!"

"The Wardens must have reached the Archdemon," Kardol muttered, thinking furiously. "The scream was to summon them all to defend it."

"We need to keep them from reaching it until it's dead!" the arl said urgently. He cast an eye back at the courtyard gates. "Are those still intact? If they are and we could close and jam them somehow…"

"They are. The Prince jimmied them, he didn't break them. We could close and bar them and jam the mechanisms," Kardol said. "And then we can bar and jam the doors themselves and move back up into Drakon, barricading everything we can to slow them down." He grinned. "It's not like we don't have plenty of axes!" Then his expression sobered. "But you won't be getting out, my lord arl."

Eamon shook his head almost impatiently. "That doesn't matter. I wouldn't be getting out in any event-the darkspawn are all over the lower reaches of the city by now. Let's do this."

"I'll need your tall people to help with the gates and the main doors," Kardol said, his tone absent as he began to calculate the mechanics of what he wanted to do. "After that, the indoor barricades are nothing. We can handle those and at that point you might want to head on up to the roof to help the Wardens."

"That sounds doable," Eamon noted with a nod. "We're not engineers, so you just tell us what you need us to do."

The dwarf nodded, then lifted his head and bellowed. "Get down here, you nug-humping bastards alive and dead! We've got work to do!"

* * *

><p>On the field, the Fereldans cheered as the darkspawn turned tail and retreated. Fergus did not, for he knew what it meant. <em>They're all headed into the city to kill Corin!<em>

He raised his sword high. "Press them! Kill all you can! For Ferelden! For the Queen and the Crown Prince!" With a roar his men surged forward. Fergus slashed the top of a darkspawn's head off, then shield-bashed another, stepping over it to join the press. It squished nastily beneath his armored feet.

_For you, Pup, _he thought even as the Keening Blade's pommel smashed another grinning face to red ruin. _I wasn't any help to you at all this last year. Maker grant that I can help you today!_

* * *

><p>"Arrows!" Alfstanna called and her gleaners ran forward with new sheaves to the shooting line. Waking Sea had come prepared to battle, with whole wagon-loads of arrows. After all, archers, no matter how good, were useless without them.<p>

A Dalish squad of hunters was close by, captained by a gray-haired elf wearing a scarf around his neck, the ends tucked into his armor, Tevinter style. As she watched, they shot their last shafts and gleaners ran forward to gather arrows. Having marched up from Redcliffe, the Dalish hunters were not so well provided with arrows as her archers were. Though most of the darkspawn had retreated, a few were firing shots of opportunity. One of the gleaners fell as she watched, which crystallized her resolve.

"Captain!" she called. The elf looked over at her, puzzled, and she beckoned. Belatedly, as he came towards her, she wondered if he was one of the ones who spoke the human tongue.

"My lady bann?" he inquired, that question answered at least.

"Your people need arrows. We've still got plenty. Shall we share? We're going to have to move the shooting line forward in any event and all of our gleaners can come behind. Safer for them."

"You would share your arrows with us?" the elf asked, his tone incredulous.

"Why would I not?" Alfstanna said simply. "It's not like you'll _waste_ them or anything! Your people shoot like demons! And we're less likely to lose people if we work together."

Athras looked at the fire-haired _shem_, who shot in truth as well as any of their hunters and remembered another _shem_ who had brought him closure when his own people could not. Remembered bright blue eyes dark with genuine sorrow over the loss of a _Dalish_.

"_I would have saved her if I could, Athras. I am so sorry. But the curse had changed her fully and she was dying in pain. All I could do was put her out of it."_

A _shem_ who had taken the time to bring him a token and last words of love. He reached a hesitant hand out to the _shemlen_ bann.

"_Ma serannas. _Thank you. We are grateful," he added quickly in their tongue. She grinned.

"My pleasure." Clasping his forearm for a moment, Alfstanna then turned to call orders in her clear, carrying voice.

"Gleaners! Supply the Dalish as well. We're joining squads with them! _Move_, people! We need to move up! We've a lot of darkspawn to kill!"

There was the odd mutter of disapproval from both sides, but most of the archers were looking at each other with curiosity and tentative friendliness.

And despite the greater deeds that had been done elsewhere that day, it was at that moment that the new Ferelden was born.

* * *

><p>Both Cauthrien and Corin had shot several bolts from their new positions. The Archdemon, blood striping its sides from multiple wounds, looked to be visibly weakening.<p>

_Time to get down to it, _Corin was just thinking when the roof door opened and Arl Eamon and some Redcliffe knights and mages poured through.

"Wardens!" he called. The Archdemon was silent at that particular moment, so his voice carried well enough. "You have to finish this! The darkspawn are coming! _**All**__ of them!_"

"Time to close," Corin told his folk. "Maker keep us all!"

"'Bout time!" Oghren declared. They ran forward, but the Archdemon had leapt again, this time to fall upon the Redcliffe men in the center of the courtyard, who were courageously swarming about its feet, endeavoring to hack it down. Using its neck, tail and good wing as bludgeons, it was knocking them down like bowling pins. The mages had wisely withdrawn to fire off staff blasts and area spells. Then it jumped away once more, towards the back of the courtyard, away from Corin and closer to Cauthrien and Alistair. Both of them ran forward and closed immediately, Cauthrien making impossible blows with her great sword, her body arcing bow-taut with each one. Alistair was more workmanlike, his head tucked between his shoulders, apparently trying to take it apart a bit at a time, starting with the toes.

"Maker! Not _Alistair_!" Corin groaned as his people ran around the Redcliffe men towards the dragon. Morrigan shot him a golden-eyed stare, but said nothing.

Kardol and his dwarves came through the door then. "Spawn are right behind us!" the Legionnaire trumpeted. "Gates didn't hold-too many bodies!" The dwarves immediately turned to block the door.

First Enchanter Irving saw this and knew what his next task must be. The Archdemon was very resistant to magic, as were most dragons and his efforts would be best expended elsewhere. He and his people, most of them Senior Enchanters, prepared to target the area in front of the door as well, moving into position behind Kardol and his dwarves.

* * *

><p>Cauthrien had managed a mighty blow upon the Archdemon's neck where it joined the shoulder, but it was not a mortal wound, though it bled freely. Alistair had done serious damage to a leg and actually laid its muzzle open to the bone when it had attempted to bite him. Mortal fear warred with a sense of rightness within him as he dodged and struck.<p>

_**This**__ is how it should be. Corin got us here, but he was never a Warden in his heart, even as I was never a king in mine. Just this once, __**I'll**__ take the burden from __**him**__. Always providing Cauthrien doesn't get there first!_

There was no fear on his fellow Warden's face, only an implacable serenity that approached exaltation. Alistair knew that she would welcome death, even the final obliteration that slaying the Archdemon would bring, as expiation for what she considered was her responsibility for the civil war and all that followed. For a moment, he felt a surge of genuine affection for her, as if she were his sister in truth. So much better a sister than Goldanna…

They both dodged back from a sweeping fore-claw at the same time. Their eyes met for a moment. Cauthrien's face warmed from that cold mask for an instant into the smile that made her pretty. Alistair grinned back, then both Wardens leapt forward again as one.

* * *

><p>Remembering what the Prince had told her about cold and spirit, Nerissa fired Arcane Bolts and Petrify and cold spells at the Archdemon. Only about half of it seemed to have any effect, which was frustrating. She was filled with awed admiration for the Wardens and the golem, who were all in there slugging away at close quarters. She threw a glance at Leliana, whose bow was singing non-stop, and who must be feeling similar frustration since some of her arrows were skipping uselessly off the armored skin. The bard smiled at her.<p>

"Every little bit helps!" she lilted, and continued shooting. Pausing to take another potion, Nerissa lifted her darkspawn staff, hot in her hand, and kept firing as well.

* * *

><p><em>We're doing major damage, it's just a matter of time<em>, Alistair thought and wondered which of them would take the killing blow. It looked to go either way.

As if to punish them for over-confidence, the Archdemon reared up suddenly and _whirled_, its tail lashing out at the two Wardens, sending them both flying, skidding and sparking across the stones. Free of its mortal foes, it flew across the courtyard again.

* * *

><p>Leliana cried out when it happened and ran towards Alistair. Nerissa headed for Cauthrien, who was clutching her right thigh and already pushing herself up on an elbow. She was trembling with pain, but her voice was steady enough when Nerissa approached.<p>

"It's broken, but go ahead and heal it, Enchanter," she said through clenched teeth

Nerissa raised an eyebrow. She'd had enough of Wynne's healing classes to know that this was a bad idea. "It needs to be set, Warden. It might heal crooked."

"Doesn't matter. I need back on my feet _now_. If we get through this I'll have it broken and re-set later." So Nerissa began the spell while Cauthrien took a large healing potion. The tautness in her face relaxed as the healing magic did its work, and after a moment she scooped up her sword and struggled to her feet with Nerissa's help. She took an experimental stamp and winced. "No, it's not quite right, but it's workable."

"You need to rest it, Warden. Broken bones don't really heal all the way right away, you know."

"I know." Cauthrien's voice was almost gentle. "But time enough for rest one way or the other later." She lifted her head and her gaze swept over the rooftop. "Well, _shit_!" she exclaimed in very unknightly fashion. "_That_ wasn't supposed to happen!" . Nerissa's glance followed hers and saw the unmistakable figure in gold armor leaping onto the Archdemon's neck.

* * *

><p>"I'm fine, Leli," Alistair grunted as he forced himself to his feet, shaking his head a little. He suspected he had a couple of cracked ribs, so he indulged in a healing potion once he was standing. It did wonders for the headache and the other aches and pains. Clear-headed once more, he looked about for the Archdemon and found…<p>

"Oh, Maker! Corin, _no_!" He started running, knowing that he'd never get there in time.

* * *

><p>It was right there in front of him, its blank, white gaze seeming to challenge him directly.<p>

_It's always been between you and me, all along, hasn't it? _Corin thought and didn't know whether to laugh or to weep at the inevitability. It was to his credit, he thought, that he did not hesitate for an instant despite his reluctance. Proper Grey Warden behavior. Duncan would have been proud.

_Duncan can spin in his grave for all of me!_

"Corin, _no_!" he heard Morrigan shout. "Let one of the others do it!"

_Not so sure of the ritual after all, are we, love? _he thought with mordant amusement, already running. _Well that makes two of us! _There was a more distant echo from Alistair, but there was no time to acknowledge it in any way. The dragon's neck was there before him, and he knew what he must do. _He_ was the dragon-slayer twice over, after all. Third time would be the charm.

* * *

><p>Sheer weight of bodies was forcing the dwarves back. Eamon's men came to join them and the mages were firing spells non-stop, but darkspawn were beginning to spill onto the roof, to push through the edges of the containing force, to cut their way through so that they could go to their master.<p>

Cauthrien, seeing this, gestured to Nerissa. "Go. Help your people hold them back. It's all you can do for us, Enchanter."

Nerissa patted her arm. "Maker keep you Warden." Cauthrien grinned.

"And you as well, Enchanter, even if you don't have any use for Him!" She ran gimping towards the Archdemon while Nerissa headed for the door.

She paused, suddenly realizing that her faithful shadow wasn't with her. She looked back to find Pooka frozen, torn between his duty to her and watching his beloved master ride the Archdemon like it was a mere bucking horse.

"Pooka! I'll be all right. Thanks for all your help. _Go to him_!"

The war dog gave her a grateful look, barked what might have been thanks and shot off in the direction of the huge dragon.

* * *

><p>First Enchanter Irving became aware of another magical source, off to the side, away from his people. A magical boosting spell had been thrown, followed by two primals in quick succession. Storm of the Century blasted into being in front of the doors, shriveling darkspawn. Though Eamon's men shouted in surprise, the dwarves did not seem particularly astonished or daunted by the spell combination, which intrigued him. He finally sighted the mage responsible. His last, wayward apprentice was gulping down a big lyrium potion, then freezing one of the straggler darkspawn who was threatening her. He turned to the Senior Enchanter beside him.<p>

"Torrin, did you see who was responsible for that?"

"Seen and witnessed, Irving. Nerissa Surana just threw a Storm of the Century." Torrin was grinning and the First Enchanter felt a smile on his own face, despite the seriousness of their current situation.

"She's young for it," Torrin remarked, then paused to throw a Cone of Cold.

"She was young for her Harrowing too. Fourteen when Gregoir insisted. And there's precedence. Illana of Montsimmard was just her age." Chain Lightning from Irving.

"That wasn't ability. That was political." Torrin's Fireball was cast with casual aplomb.

"Ah, but Surana _would_ be ability." Irving Petrified an Alpha that looked like it might have had him in mind for its next victim.

"Gregoir is going to have an apoplexy." Torrin also threw a Chain Lightning. Irving took a few moments to whip up a Firestorm before he spoke again.

"A little apoplexy every now and then is good for Gregoir. Keeps his blood flowing."

A Blizzard from Torrin, who conceded, "You do know how to pick them, Irving. I'll give you that." Irving leaned on his staff for a moment to take a break and smiled.

"Why yes, Torrin. Yes, I do."

* * *

><p>Alistair had seen it once before, the incredible grace and dexterity, the strength it took to cling to a dragon determined to have you off, but it was still as astonishing as the first time he'd witnessed it, something to spin a tale of for the rest of your life. Battle was halting all over the courtyard as humans and darkspawn alike paused to watch Corin Cousland battle the Archdemon.<p>

He was slamming Starfang into its head and the spine just behind it, gouts of blood flying everywhere. _All that horseback riding came in handy after all, _Alistair thought dazedly, for Corin was using both hands to wield the sword, clinging only with the strength of his legs. But it turned out to be a fatal mistake, for when the Archdemon threw its head skyward suddenly, the Warden Prince was dislodged. He arced through the air like a golden comet and despite his horror, Alistair could not look away. _I did not see Riordan die, but I will bear witness to this! _

But Corin did not fall broken onto the pavement. He spun in midair, sword still in hand and as if the whole thing were _intentional_, some sort of acrobatic _stunt_, came back down on the Archdemon's neck and began hewing it again. A ragged cheer broke out from the onlookers.

And Corin was _winning_, for the great head was sinking, moving more and more feebly under his savage blows. It dropped suddenly with an abrupt, final thud and he rolled off in a controlled tuck, tossing Starfang a little to one side to avoid being impaled upon his own weapon. _More horseback stuff that. He said he'd teach me. _Corin's helmet had been lost in that last bit of acrobatics and he pushed his hair impatiently out of his eyes with one hand as he regained his feet and surveyed his fallen foe. Alistair Theirin started running again then, realizing that against all hope he might still have a chance of sparing his friend, for Corin was still alive and apparently hadn't realized that because he was, the Archdemon was too.

Then the great head moved and reared back up a bit and Alistair saw the realization hit Corin, the despair. And now there were suddenly darkspawn in the way and Alistair was cursing and crying, shoving and striking, unable to get close enough and he could see that Cauthrien was similarly impeded, though her great sword was cutting a wide swath through the enemy. Corin ran to scoop his sword up again and closed with his enemy for the last time.

* * *

><p>He'd thought for just a moment that Morrigan's ritual had worked, that he was off the hook. Then the Archdemon moved and the white eyes opened again, their malevolence unabated. <em>I guess we've yet to put the ritual to the test! <em>Corin trusted Morrigan, but he honestly didn't think that the ritual would work, or at least that it would not work exactly in the way Flemeth had described. Flemeth had been more than capable of picking up on Morrigan's attraction to Corin (which from her own admission had been almost instantaneous) and using it to insure that her daughter would do as she wished. If Flemeth were indeed not dead as Morrigan claimed, then she would undoubtedly have still wished for her daughter to conceive the child, that she might acquire it later when she was stronger. Corin suspected that the Archdemon would end up in the child, he just didn't think he would necessarily survive, as his survival was in no way vital to Flemeth's plans once he'd done his duty as stud.

He looked around for Morrigan and found her, a little way off, her eyes wide and frightened as he'd never seen them before. She must have been having similar reservations, for her golden glance met his and she shook her head in mute negation. _Don't do this!_

But he could see the darkspawn running forward, could see that Alistair and Cauthrien wouldn't reach him in time before he was overwhelmed and realized that there was no choice, if indeed there ever had been one.

And as he ran forward to make the final blow, Corin's thoughts were oddly enough not on Anora or Morrigan or Alistair, on his family or friends or even the Ferelden that would live after him because of his deed. What came to him then, etched clear as crystal, was the memory of a rainy day back when he'd been twelve, in the library at Vigil's Keep.

_It was raining, so they couldn't go out and shoot, not that that was a good idea at Vigil anyway. It just rubbed Rendon the wrong way. So he and a fourteen-year-old Nate Howe were in the library, looking for books to read. They'd already found a couple of dirty ones and snickered over them; but truth to tell, most of what was described was so far beyond their knowledge level that it was more confusing than racy._

_Corin was leafing through an herbal, admiring the pictures, when Nate came over, a very old book with a cracked leather binding in his hands, his hawk-nosed face intent._

"_Hey, listen to this that I found," he said. "It's an account of some of the old Avaar tribes. It might even be older than that. It says, 'In days of old, during times of drought or pestilence or other trouble, it was the custom that a noble youth be offered up for sacrifice to appease the gods. Base men were not eligible, for this was a burden fell upon the nobles, as only the very best would please the gods. All noble youths of a certain age would be entered into a lottery and the chosen one would be the sacrifice. Sometimes one would volunteer and this was considered a very good omen and would bring great honor upon his house, for it was widely believed that the consenting sacrifice was far more pleasing to the gods and would make them more likely to aid the people. A sacrifice from the royal house was considered the most pleasing of all.'"_

_Corin wrinkled his nose. "Yuck. Did it say how they were killed?"_

"_Not really. That's what makes me think it's really old and was only reported on in this book, because there aren't many details. It's strange to think about, isn't it? If we lived back then, that would be us." Nate had always been a thoughtful sort._

"_Yes, it would. What would you do, if you were picked?'_

_Nate shrugged. "I wouldn't fight it, I guess. It would diminish my family's honor and probably be bad luck with the gods as well."_

"'_-this was a burden that fell upon the nobles.'," Corin quoted reflectively. "I guess in the end it's not __**that**__ much different than leading troops into battle and dying that way."_

"_Maybe not," Nate agreed, then asked, "Would you volunteer, do you think?"_

"_I don't know for sure, because I'm not that person," Corin replied. "I don't believe in the same things they did after all. But if I were, and I truly believed that my volunteering would make the gods __**more**__ likely to make it rain so my people would have food to eat or cure the sickness that was afflicting them…it would be the __**best **__kind of noble to volunteer then, don't you think?"_

"_Yes, I do," Nate agreed. There was a mutual moment of shared understanding and amity, then Corin's stomach rumbled. Nate chuckled._

"_I'm being a bad host. Let's get you a snack before dinner."_

* * *

><p>And now he was there and Starfang was arcing up over his head, glittering almost purple in the reddish light from the cloud cover overhead. The Archdemon was glaring at him, as if in satisfaction that he'd be going with it, but it was finally all right. He'd moved past fear and regret to the place he needed to be.<p>

_Hear me, Maker! The prince goes consenting! End the Blight! Free Ferelden!_

Corin was smiling as he drove Starfang home.


	38. Chapter 38

I've had portions of this chapter written for ages, which is why you're getting it so fast. Thanks to Ygrain33 for _multiple_ chapter reviews, Jordan Mathias, MrPowell, spectre4hire, LiveWithHonour, Darkly Tranquil, Rake1810, Guest, GenericRandom, lazyguy90, Suilven, karthik9, Mike3207, Ronin Kenshin, hub.1, Nightbrainzz, and Zikarn Krais for reviews on the last chapter. Also, anyone who might review it later, and all of you lovely people who have alerted or put my story on your favorites list. I really, really appreciate it!

* * *

><p>Alistair remembered the first time he'd ever seen Corin smile, in the Tower of Ishal. Up to that point he'd thought the only surviving recruit a singularly humorless individual, knowing nothing of the recent events at Highever.<p>

"What are all these darkspawn doing here?" he'd griped. "They weren't supposed to be anywhere near this place!"

Something about the complaint apparently had a dark humor to it, for Corin had turned to him and grinned suddenly and it was like a dawn sun breaking over dark mountains, it changed his face so much. "You _could _try telling them they're in the wrong place," he'd suggested wryly. "Besides, weren't you complaining earlier that you wanted in on the fight?"

Alistair couldn't help but respond to that grin with one of his own. "You've got me there! I guess I can't complain at that!" They'd drawn their weapons and charged down upon the latest clutch of darkspawn together.

Now Alistair caught the briefest glimpse of Corin just before the sword drove home and he was smiling again, a gentler smile this time, the one that usually accompanied pronouncements like "Don't ever change, brother. I mean it.". But he couldn't reach him, and didn't think he would hear a call.

Then Starfang slammed down and _light _erupted from the Archdemon, enveloping both it and Corin. Alistair hadn't expected that. If he'd thought about it at all, he might have expected some sort of oozing, corrupted miasma, or a foul, dark mist, like that which the rogues stepped out of. But not this coruscating flood of brilliance.

He only got one more brief glimpse of Corin before the light obscured him completely. The smile was gone, his expression the grim, determined, driven one of his darker moods. He seemed to be fighting against some force trying to push the sword out of the Archdemon, exerting the full force of his powerful body to keep Starfang in the wound, grinding it deeper, till the tip of the sword must have been grating against the stone itself

Then the light _exploded_, a detonation of such force that everything on the roof was knocked down by the blast, save for the golem, who simply leaned into it and kept her feet. Being reasonably close, Alistair found himself being knocked down and blown across the stone for the second time in ten minutes. The light washed over him and brought darkness with it.

* * *

><p>From where she was, Morrigan watched her beloved striving against the impossible forces arrayed against him. She was dimly aware of Pooka howling in enraged frustration, faced with a foe he couldn't fight or approach.<p>

The light was growing brighter and suddenly, a luminous tendril of it arced out and touched her belly, not unlike an umbilical cord at first. But it thickened and strengthened quickly, pulsing; not painful exactly, more like being on the wrong end of a continuous lightning spell. She felt suffused with power as she'd never been before, felt as if her very soul were having to stretch to contain it.

The sensation drove her to her knees, so she was better off than most when the explosion came. She did not lose consciousness, and scrambled back to her feet to look for Corin as soon as it was over.

He was in a crumpled heap at the base of the wall of one of the ballista platforms, the explosion having apparently thrown him into it. Pooka was standing over him, licking his face and whining urgently as Morrigan approached, and she somehow _knew_ without even touching him that her beloved was broken inside and dying, knew as well that she could fix it, that she could fix anything short of death itself, and maybe even that. There was a sun burning in her belly, the magic promised that it would be as easy as breathing and she suddenly understood why the Tevinter mages had worshipped these beings.

She knelt and got to work.

* * *

><p>Alistair woke to clouds scudding overhead, breaking up, and rolled onto his side with a groan. There were no darkspawn near him and after a moment he forced himself to his knees and then his feet, staggering a bit as he regained them, a entirely new set of aches and bruises making themselves known. He stooped to collect his sword, then looked about him. The Archdemon was still where it had fallen, but Corin was not beside it. Alistair could not find him anywhere close to the body. Finally, he saw Pooka standing over dimly gleaming golden armor in a huddled heap near the wall of the nearest ballista platform. Morrigan was there as well, and Alistair could see the green light of a healing spell from where he was standing.<p>

He walked slowly towards his Warden brother's still form, picking his way through the heaps of bodies, unashamedly weeping. _All the precautions he took, making Cauthrien a Warden…all of it come to naught. It should have been me. __**It should have been me!**_

Spell completed, Morrigan was snarling under her breath. Alistair could hear her as he approached.

"Don't you _dare_, Corin Cousland! Not now!" She immediately began another spell, which surprised him, for he knew that mages ordinarily needed to wait for their mana to recharge between like spells, though they could throw one from another school immediately. Morrigan was not Wynne, but right now she was casting as if she were.

Remembering that last, passionate embrace and the surprising public avowal of love, the scene before him was the most pitiful thing he'd ever seen. The desperation under the anger in her voice was plain to him now. _I knew he loved her, but I never thought __**she**__ loved __**him**__ back, until just a little while ago. And she doesn't know. She thinks she can heal him. _"Morrigan," he croaked; then sniffling and clearing his throat, tried again. "Morrigan. Give it up. I'm sorry, but he's dead."

The green light under her hands sank into Corin's recumbent form, to Alistair's great surprise and she promptly began a third spell, which amazed him further. When it was over her head swiveled, hawk-like, to nail Alistair with a golden glare.

"He's _not_ dead, you lackwit! The healing spells worked!" Pooka, watching his master's still face, whined plaintively.

"There's no soul there, Morrigan. The Warden who kills the Archdemon dies."

Alistair found himself being ignored in favor of yet another healing spell with no wait time, which also worked. He began to feel the faintest glimmer of hope.

"And how do you know that, Alistair Theirin?" Morrigan asked when the spell was done.

"Riordan told us. A Warden has to sacrifice him- or herself to end the Blight. The Archdemon's soul is drawn into the Warden's body by the Taint and both souls are destroyed."

"Are you absolutely sure about that?"

"A Warden has always had to die to kill the Archdemon."

"But perhaps their souls weren't destroyed. Garahel was blown clear across the battlefield by the explosion. Don't you think _that_ might have killed him rather than his soul colliding with the Archdemon's?"

"I can see where you might think so, Morrigan, but other people have tried to kill Archdemons, non-Wardens and it never works. The Archdemon just moves into another body and keeps going."

"I have news for you. That is not necessarily true. My mother knew another way."

Alistair began to get a very bad feeling about things, even though the last spell had improved Corin's color enormously.

"She gave me a ritual, a ritual that would protect the Warden who killed the Archdemon."

"You've known about the Warden-dying-thing all along?"

The witch snorted. "Of course."

Worse and worse. Alistair could almost feel the horror and disapproval of Weisshaupt beating down upon him. _Maker! We're foresworn! It's all to do __**again**__!_

"But if the Warden didn't die…does that mean the Blight is not over?"

"You are _such_ an _idiot_! Look around you! Doesn't it look like the Blight is over?" Alistair scanned the roof quickly. What few remaining darkspawn were left were now being mopped up by his companions, the remnant of Drakon's defenders, Eamon's men and the Legion. They seemed confused, disoriented, unwilling to fight, trying to get off the roof and head down, down out of the late afternoon sun to the comfort of the depths of the earth.

"_What did you __**do**__, Morrigan?"_

"It is more a question of what _we_ did, Corin and I. Though I had an extremely difficult time convincing him. In the end, I think it was to save _you_ more than anything else, no matter that he said it was to help me." She began yet another healing spell and this time, when it went through, Corin actually stirred and groaned a little.

"Morrigan…"

The wilder witch looked up impatiently. "There was a ritual. My mother gave it to me before she sent me with you. I was to lay with one of you Wardens and make a child bearing the Taint. The Archdemon's soul would be drawn into the new-made child instead of the Warden, and cleansed of the Taint as well in the process." Her hand went down to her silverite-clad stomach. "I am carrying a child with the soul of an Old God."

"Maker!" Alistair exclaimed, his gorge rising at the thought. Morrigan smiled nastily.

"Trust me; the babe is better off in my hands than my mother's."

"And what are _you_ going to do with a source of power like that?"

The smile went away. "Survive. With a powerful ally such as this, I might be able to fight Flemeth off when she comes for me."

Alistair spoke slowly and softly. _She's come unhinged. _"Morrigan, Flemeth is _dead_. Corin killed her. I watched him do it."

"You are even more the fool than usual if you think that, Alistair. She has been killed before. She always comes back. It may take a while, you damaged her power greatly when you killed her, but she will be back. Hopefully it will take long enough that I can raise the child until it is old enough to come into its power."

"And then what? Are you going to pull your mother's trick and possess it?"

Her eyes intent upon Corin's face, Morrigan said, "I would _never_ do that. The babe is all that I have of _him_. Ferelden may have the rest, but this I will take."

Oddly enough, Alistair believed her. It was almost…comforting. She looked back up at him. "You haven't thanked me yet for saving your life and the life of your Warden brother and sister. Not to mention sparing you the throne. Corin will live, Alistair, live and rule. You will still be together." For once, there was no mockery in her voice.

"I…thank you, Morrigan." She nodded.

"And I suppose that it is time that I thanked you." His jaw dropped, and she chuckled. "There were plenty of times that shield of yours protected me in battle, Alistair, even though you liked me little. It must be said. I am…not ungrateful."

"Uh…you're welcome." She snorted again, then her expression softened. Her hand reached out and brushed Corin's cheek and she bent to kiss his lips softly.

"Look after him for me, please," she said when she had straightened from the kiss. The words were almost inaudible and the expression on her face…Alistair had never thought to see Morrigan look vulnerable or sad, but there it was.

"Always." He made his tone brisk intentionally, knowing that she would not have wanted him to notice. Morrigan got to her feet, her usual cool expression back in place.

"And so it ends as it began, with just the three of us," she said musingly. "Tell him…no, don't tell him anything. He already knows. Fare you well, Alistair Theirin. I doubt very much that we will meet again." The familiar shimmer gathered around her, brighter than usual, obscuring her. When it faded, a hawk hovered there, beating its wings. It gave a mournful cry and shot off over the battlements into the west.

* * *

><p>A single feather drifted down to the stone where Morrigan had stood. Alistair stooped and gathered it up, knowing that Corin would want to keep it, then knelt by his Warden brother.<p>

Corin had settled back into deep sleep or unconsciousness. But his breathing was deep and regular and his color was good. Alistair could see no obvious injuries-Morrigan had apparently done her work well. Although he was not going to be totally reassured until they'd gotten Corin somewhere where they could get the armor off and have an experienced healer take a look at him.

The others approached, gathering around him from the different points they'd been blown to by the explosion. Cauthrien, Shale, Sten, Zevran, Leliana and Oghren. All present and accounted for, all seemingly hale. It was amazing, when one thought upon it, that they'd all survived the perils and battles of the last year to stand here now.

Something else that was amazing, or rather daunting, occurred to Alistair then. _I'm second in command_, _which means that currently I'm __**it**__!_

"Is anyone hurt?" he asked aloud.

"We're fine, Alistair," Leliana said. "We had potions enough."

"Will the _kadan_ live?" Sten inquired.

"It seems that he will. Morrigan healed him before she left."

Cauthrien was good, Alistair had to give her that. Only the faintest hint of surprise gleamed in her brown eyes for a moment, but the look she gave him said that she definitely had questions she wanted answered. And he wanted to talk to her, use her as a sounding board, but that was going to have to wait for a better time.

"People, we need to get Corin back to the healers. I really don't want to bed him down here in Drakon or in the Palace until we know it's been cleared of darkspawn. And that means getting him across the valley somehow and back to the camp."

"I will carry him as far as he needs," Shale rumbled. "To Amaranthine, if necessary."

"You've had quite the fight today, Shale. Are you sure you're up to it?"

"Of course. I do not feel weariness as you flesh creatures do."

Alistair wasn't so sure of that, he'd seen times when Shale seemed tired or drained, but it was pointless to bring that up. And besides, he knew she'd carried Wilhelm for days at a time. She could probably well manage the heavier, armored Corin for a shorter distance.

"All right then, you've got him. The rest of us will go down with you."

Shale stooped and scooped Corin up gently as if he'd been a sleeping child, his head rolling lax against her stony shoulder and started for the door, the others falling in around her. Alistair, spying the glint of something shiny out of the corner of his eye, turned and realized that Starfang was still sticking out of the Archdemon's head. He started over in that direction.

"Go on, all of you. I'll catch up."

* * *

><p>The eerie white light was gone out of the Archdemon's eyes, which were now a cloudy purple-black. Close up, the damage was savage and extensive, the repeated blows through the neck doing the next best thing to severing it. What was astonishing was that the Archdemon had lasted as long as it had under Corin's assault. But then, it wasn't <em>exactly<em> a regular dragon…

Starfang was buried to the hilt between the Archdemon's eyes. Alistair laid hand to hilt a bit hesitantly, but no corruptive energy shot up the blade. There was nothing at all but a small sucking sound, as he wriggled it in the wound to loosen it. It took all the considerable might of his arms, back and shoulders to pull the blade free, so firmly had Corin driven it in.

He half expected it to be corroded, eaten away by the corruption of this most Tainted creature. But the blade shone as pristinely silver-blue as ever when he drew it forth. Mikhail Dryden's words echoed in his head as he looked upon it.

"_Star-metal! Give this to me and I will forge for you a sword of legend!"_

_Mission accomplished, Mikhail, _Alistair thought. The cloak of a nearby fallen Redcliffe knight served to wipe the blade clean, and he shoved it through his belt. The smear of blood on fabric reminded him that he had another essential Grey Warden task to do, very soon. _I'll have to get a bunch of potion bottles and get back up here to collect some Archdemon blood. Get Wynne to preserve it for me. _

Casting a last, cursory look around before he hastened after the others, he found that the darkspawn were all gone and the wounded were already beginning to be tended to. Then he spied a small, green-clad figure seated between the merlons of one of the ballista turrets and realized that all of his party were not actually accounted for just yet.

* * *

><p>As he drew nearer he could see that it was indeed Nerissa Surana, swinging her feet idly as they dangled over the void. He approached, stepping a little heavily as he came so as to avoid startling her. She turned her head and smiled wearily up at him. Her robes were slashed, burned, stained, her hair straggling from its bun, her face caked with soot and grime. But he couldn't see any obvious injuries, which was a relief.<p>

"Hi there, Hardbody. Thought you'd be down below by now. How's the Prince?"

He sketched her a weary bow. "Mistress Death From Above. Are you all right?"

She shrugged. "Not hurt. Just really, really tired. And zinged from all the magic and the lyrium. I feel like I got zapped with one of my own lightning spells. And I do a really _vicious _lightning spell."

"So I've noticed. Would you mind very much if I pulled you away from that edge? We're a long way up. You're making me nervous."

She smiled her bright, engaging smile. "After the first twenty feet, another hundred or so doesn't matter, Hardbody. Dead is dead. But all right." Nerissa scooted back from the edge by herself and got to her feet, stumbling a bit from weariness as she did so. Alistair caught her elbow and steadied her. He could feel a regular tremor running through her, probably indicative of extreme magical over-extension and too much lyrium, as were her somewhat drunken behavior and speech patterns. She had performed magnificently throughout the long battle, but having spent her entire life cloistered in the Tower, had not had the chance to get the experience in pacing herself in combat that both Morrigan and Wynne possessed.

The templar/mage relationship did not always have to be an antagonistic one. He sent a cleansing wave through the little mage and her shudders subsided. She peered up at him in surprise.

"You never said you were a templar, Hardbody."

"I'm not, officially. Never took final vows-got conscripted into the Wardens first. But I had all the training and I've kept it up."

"Were you Juiced when you did that?"

"No."

Though her gaze was still owlish with exhaustion, she was obviously impressed. "Because that was one of the strongest Cleanses I've ever felt and that includes the Juicy ones. You're quite something, aren't you?"

Oddly enough, Alistair was suddenly feeling like he _was_ quite something, despite battle fatigue and worry about Corin and all the rest of it. Looking down at her sash of pockets he found only three lyrium potions left. Remembering how many she'd begun with at least twenty, he was appalled. "Maker! Can someone as small as you drink that much lyrium and live?"

She giggled. "I guess we'll find out!" Her slight frame leaned suddenly for support against his heavier, armored one. She gazed out upon the setting sun with a satisfied air.

"It's been a good day, Hardbody. I helped kill an Archdemon, and a whole bunch of darkspawn."

"That you did."

"And the Prince of Ferelden said very complimentary things to me and let me go into battle with him."

"That he did."

"Is he going to be all right? I asked you once already and you never told me." Her brows drew down and she gave Alistair an annoyed frown.

"I hope that Corin will be. Though it may be a while before he's up and around."

"That's good to know. He's very nice. Anyway, back to the day. I used every sort of magic I've ever learned, several times over."

"You were mighty," Alistair acknowledged. "To the point of being absolutely scary." The smile came back.

"I was, wasn't I?" She looked up at him. "And I got to kiss a really cute fellow."

Alistair cleared his throat, blushing a little. "Yes, you did." Nerissa narrowed her eyes at him, her expression a little embarrassed.

"You didn't really mind, did you? I'll apologize if you did. But I was overcome with battle lust."

"Really? I thought at the time that what you were overcome with was annoyance. But no, I didn't mind. It was a very nice kiss." It actually had been, when he thought back upon it, clumsy and unpracticed, but with a sweet sincerity he could bring to mind even now.

Another owlish stare and nod. "Thanks for being understanding." She sighed and slipped her arm about his waist. "And now all those ugly clouds have gone away and we have this beautiful sunset. Look at all those colors!." She gestured broadly with her free hand. "All those reds and blues and purples! And the moon is coming up, just over there. It couldn't get any better." The hand around his waist slipped down and patted his ass gently. Alistair wondered if she even knew she was doing it.

"It's going to get cold soon, Hardbody. You probably should be going down."

"Why don't you come down off the roof with me, Enchanter Surana?"

"Nerissa," she corrected him. "We are comrades in arms, after all."

"Nerissa, then. You look like you could use a couple days' sleep and a good meal or three."

The little elf nodded. "I could. And I'll get some sleep soon, I promise. But I want to watch the sunset." A thoughtful expression came over her face. "And maybe go kick the Archdemon just once. You don't get a chance to do _that_ every day." She smiled up at him. "You go ahead. I'll be along in a bit." The thin shoulders shrugged. "Where am I going to go, after all?" she said wryly. "I can't fly off the roof like your friend Morrigan did. Neat trick, that."

"She's not my friend. And I think I'd better stay. You're none too steady on your feet."

"If you insist, Hardbody." Releasing him, she spun about, overbalanced for a moment, then caught herself. He followed close behind as she wended her way unsteadily over the rooftop to where the Archdemon's body lay. Then watched, amused, as she actually drew back her tiny, booted foot, wobbled for a moment, then kicked it right on the snout.

Needless to say, the Archdemon's head did not so much as shift the tiniest bit. Enchanter Surana yelped in pain, hopped once awkwardly, put her foot back down and glared at the dead, draconic body.

"HA! YOU LOSE!" she cried, fists raised, her victorious declaration echoing over the roof.

People nearby startled. After a moment, a couple of them cheered raggedly in response. Alistair Theirin, weary from the stresses of the long day and caught by the absurdity of it all, threw back his head and howled. Nerissa turned her head to grin at him, overbalanced once more and fell on her rump. She tried to get up, but her legs didn't seem to be working correctly any more. A scowl of frustration was upon her face as he hurried over.

"That's it. I need to get you off of this roof," he declared, and scooped Nerissa up. She weighed next to nothing, which made it easy enough even though he was tired. The elf surrendered to the inevitable, let her head loll against his chest and giggled. Her arm raised and gestured vaguely.

"Onward, Hardbody!"

"You are _so_ going to be embarrassed once you've had some rest and food and think back on this," Alistair muttered to her, but he was grinning. He found that he rather enjoyed the feel of her in his arms and the way her mahogany hair tickled his chin as he walked.


	39. Chapter 39

Thanks to FellowNrd, millelibri (x 2), anon (no, he hasn't forgotten!), JordanMathias, reality deviant, none, borismortys, Mike3207, Genericrandom, lazyguy90, Suilven, The-Demon-of-Soul-Society, spectre4hire, Liso66, Nightbrainzz, Ronin Kenshin and Ygraine33 for all the encouragement and suggestions. I do listen and I do try to respond. I'll apologize here if I left anyone out-it wasn't intentional.

To the best of my recollection, at Ostagar Duncan mentions that the Circle Mages get the collected darkspawn blood ready for the Joining. Or maybe they're making the Joining potion itself, though I might be wrong about that. Short of backtracking in game, I can't check on it and I don't have time to do that at present. Certainly, if you take Awakenings and Varel into consideration, the Grey Wardens seem to be oddly lax about keeping some of their secrets. But then, if a mage is needed to fix the potion, then how do the Awakenings potions get made? It's not Anders doing it, at least not at first.

At any rate, that throwaway line resulted in some of this chapter.

* * *

><p>Fergus was in a place that held nothing but rage and desperation and duty. A Cousland always did his duty. One of Bryce's sons was fulfilling that to the utmost on top of Fort Drakon; the other could not fail in his here, not matter the outcome of that first battle.<p>

One of Ferelden's premier warriors, with more than his share of tournament victories, had Howe's men attacked him directly rather than from ambush, they would never have prevailed. But today, good as he was, Fergus knew that he'd stepped outside himself, had become something more, a killing machine. The more darkspawn he hewed down from the back of the horde, the fewer there would be to reach Corin. He refused to believe that it was hopeless.

Couslands also did not lead from behind. Fergus was in the van and in the thick of things, totally unaware of the awe and respect of the men who watched him as he tried single-handedly to slay the entire horde.

BOOM! There was an explosion of light at the top of the tower, and a wave of sound and wind that reached even to where they were, now fighting before the gates of the city. It echoed, in fact, over the entire valley.

And the darkspawn just _stopped_, all paused for a moment, before they began dropping their weapons and trying to stumble away, to escape.

_It's done, _he realized._ The Archdemon is dead. It's done, and Pup's either alive or not. _The desperation left him-there was nothing he could do to help Corin now. The rage cooled, into something less angry, more calculating, but no less dangerous.

"They wanted into the city?" he thundered to his nearest lieutenants and anyone within earshot. "THEN KEEP THEM HERE! AND KILL THEM ALL! NO MERCY!" Any darkspawn that got away today would probably have to be dealt with eventually, tainting more land and people before they died.

A guttural roar answered him, as the Fereldans who had suffered at the hands of these creatures for the last year suddenly realized that they now had the upper hand. The darkspawn frantically trying to pour back out of the gate were met with a bristling wall of steel.

* * *

><p>Arrows hissed as Mithra and her people slipped silently through the wooded hills around the verge of the valley. The hunting was more sparse than it would have been closer to the pitched battle, but they were still making a difference.<p>

Mithra had no quarrel with the Warden for sending them away. He knew better than most _shems _how the Dalish lived and fought. He'd used her and her people intelligently in the one wide-open area of the city, and not a single Dalish had been lost. Then he'd let them go to fight as they thought was best and most effective, rather then keeping them to be hemmed in and trapped in the stone corridors of the keep.

She spared a thought as she hunted for the Dwarvish captain who had stayed behind, the one who claimed that he was dead, as did the others who wore the black armor. Having spoken to him once or twice upon the race up from Redcliffe, she still didn't begin to understand some of the strange beliefs the _durgen'len _held, but there had been some similarities between the two of them, an odd feeling of kinship. The Legionnaire dwarves tattooed their faces as to show that they were dead spirits of protection that had been given to the Stone, even as the Dalish did to show respect to their gods and call down their protection. Mithra was a First Hunter, charged with the protection of her own people and Kardol and his people were the ones out in the dark, the outlier of defense for Orzammar.

And she knew from talking to him that he felt the same way about the crushing weight of stone that he lived under, the myriad rocks with their veins of sparkling minerals, the cave pools and with their strange, blind creatures, the underground springs with the freshest, rawest water on Thedas, even the lava flows, that she did about her forest home and all of its beauties. Speaking of those things, he'd spoken almost poetically, to the point that she'd actually thought it might be interesting to see his underground kingdom just once, very briefly. But no more than that. To be closed away from the sun and the open air forever would have been the death of her.

Equally horrible to Kardol would be a death under the open sky, but it was entirely likely that would happen. She'd seen the flood of darkspawn towards the city. He was trapped now. She took a moment to send the oddest prayer of her life to the Creators, that they might encourage the Stone to succor its children come to war on the surface. Mithra had no idea if that would do any good, but it made her feel better.

BOOM! The branches of the trees tossed suddenly, and a rain of autumn leaves came down. Under the trees the light was not a blinding flash. The dappling light of the forest floor just grew brighter for a moment.

"What was that?" one of the hunters behind her muttered. Mithra raised her hand and the party came to a halt, extending all of their senses. The oppressive sense of wrongness that had lain beneath the conscious level of her thoughts since they drew near to the city was lessened suddenly. The breeze rose and it seemed cleaner somehow.

"Creators!" she exclaimed. "I think the Wardens might have slain the Archdemon!"

"The corruption," one of the female hunters noted, "it seems to be weaker now."

"We need to go back towards the city and find out what happened," Mithra said, and gestured them onwards.

They encountered darkspawn twice on their way back towards Denerim. In both instances, the creatures put up no resistance whatsoever, fleeing their approach. Dalish arrows were unerring, however, and none that they met survived.

"This isn't combat any more," Deygan noted after the second encounter. "It's more like target practice. The Archdemon _must_ be dead." They all looked at each other and smiles broke out.

"Creators will it so," Mithra said, and they hurried on.

* * *

><p>Anora and Eleanor both had spyglasses of their own by now, but even with those, could truly discern little of what was going on. There was no way to pick out Fergus; he was not fighting under Ferelden's banner and his dragonbone armor was a dull color that blended in to the blacks and browns and blood of the battlefield. And certainly no way at all to discern anything about the crucial battle taking place on the roof.<p>

The clamor of the battlefield came to them only as a dull roar. "Is that Waking Sea over on the right flank?" the Queen asked the teyrna. "I thought I saw Alfstanna's head for a moment." To be able to know _anything_ definite about what was going on would be a comfort.

"Yes, I think those are her colors," Eleanor agreed, training her glass in that direction. "Looks like she might have some Dalish with her as well." The teyrna's voice was absolutely calm, which impressed Anora. She thought of the tiny glow of the new life within her. Eleanor had done that twice successfully (and a couple of times not), and had invested years in loving, teaching and caring for the two sons she risked on the battlefield today. All that time, effort and love, so easily wiped out in a moment by a spear or sword, by arrow or axe.

_Women are the true builders of the world, _Anora thought. There were few people in Ferelden she respected as much as she respected Eleanor Cousland at present. She had always enjoyed the teyrna's company, but the way Eleanor had responded to the events at Highever had lifted her in Anora's esteem enormously. Having lost everything she held dear, Eleanor had still managed to put her peoples' welfare first, had still managed to inspire and lead them against their oppressors. Bryce Cousland had been offered the crown by the Landsmeet. Had he accepted, Ferelden would have had a magnificent queen in Eleanor.

_And who knows, I might still have been tending the gardens at Gwaren…_

BOOM! White light exploded from the roof of Fort Drakon. The noise made both women jump. Moments later, the wind from the blast reached them, sending a sudden skirl of leaves dancing. Both spyglasses turned in that direction, but could still see nothing, save for a dissipating shimmer of light.

"Do you think…" Eleanor trailed off hopefully.

"It _must_ have been!" Anora answered. "I can't think of what else that could be. And listen!"

The tenor of the roar from the battlefield was changing from the deep growling roar of mortal conflict to triumphant shouting.

"_Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion, should they set themselves against me," _Eleanor chanted softly, her face composed. But there was fear in her green eyes and Anora thought she could tell what the teyrna was thinking.

_The Archdemon is dead. But what of my sons?_

* * *

><p>The refugee camp was even farther away. It was impossible to see much of anything when the towers of Denerim were small on the horizon, but nonetheless, as the day of the battle wore on, people congregated on the side of the camp nearest Denerim, to stand quietly and wait while the fate of their world was decided. The omnipresent arguments over food, the best places to camp, petty domestic disagreements-these all ceased. Children, sensing the ominous aura that hung over everything, abandoned their usual games and kept close to their parents' sides.<p>

Agnetha moved among them, stopping from time to time to lead a group in prayer, speaking words of encouragement. As she did so, her thoughts turned to the young, burdened Prince whom she had twice blessed.

"_The Senior Warden says that for the Blight to end, the Archdemon must be killed by a Warden, and that when the Warden kills the Archdemon, their souls will collide and both souls will be destroyed. I don't mind dying to stop the Blight. I really don't. And neither do the other Wardens. We all understand that it has to be done and that it is a worthy sacrifice. But the idea of my soul being destroyed, of never coming to the Maker-that is extremely troubling to me."_

Agnetha had never met the other three Wardens, though she thought that she might have seen one of them-the tall, burly, handsome noble with the golden-brown hair at the funeral had seemed to be particularly close to the Prince. But she sent a silent prayer to the Maker for them as well and hoped that she'd been right when she'd told Corin that his soul would not be destroyed.

_Surely that is not a price the Maker would require to end the Blight! Surely the __**willingness **__to make the sacrifice should be enough! _

Had she erred in advising Corin so? Certainly it had seemed to hearten him, to bring him comfort. Was that a bad thing, even if it were not true? She had not lied intentionally, she'd spoken to him from her heart. But now she was all too aware of how little she actually knew, how unworldly she was, unfit to be the confidant to a prince. The Revered Mother had certainly emphasized that in her discussion after the second blessing, though she had also admitted she thought that Agnetha had done perfectly well.

"_Royals often have a cleric they feel a special relationship with, Agnetha, and choose to cultivate that by making the cleric their private confessor. I know that you did not put yourself forward in either of your encounters with the Prince. I am not accusing you of seeking to gain influence, but he does seem to be quite taken with you and it is not an impossibility that he might request you for such a position later. Things of course are too unsettled now, but I must ask you to consider honestly if you would be suited to advise a king, should he request you. You know nothing of politics, and while our counsel is primarily spiritual, could you truly comprehend the nature of the pressures he would be experiencing, given that you grew up in a small, rural chantry? Do you know enough to advise him wisely, should he ask you for more secular counsel?"_

Agnetha had readily agreed that she did not, and the Revered Mother had seemed quite satisfied and even pleased.

"_You were thrown in over your head, child, not once, but twice and you seem to have performed admirably. I do not wish you to think that I am chastising you. Quite the contrary. I just wished to bring to your attention things, which I, because of greater years and experience, am aware of. I've spoken to the Grand Cleric about you. We'll have to see if we can't get you some additional training and guidance-you appear to have great promise."_

That had never come to pass, given the chaos of recent events. Agnetha suspected she wasn't quite so much in the Revered Mother's good graces now, given her desertion. But there were certain things which she knew to be right, certain actions she knew the Lady would wish her to take, and she would do them, no matter the opposition. Even if that opposition came from her superiors in the Chantry.

What had been a mighty booming sound closer to Denerim registered more as a distant clap of thunder here, but the bright explosion of light could be plainly seen and set off murmuring and exclamations in the watching crowd that were half-fearful, half-hopeful. Several small children started crying. Agnetha moved to the front of the crowd, eyes intent upon that light, oblivious to the questions as she passed.

"Sister, what is it?" "Sister Agnetha, was that the Archdemon?" "Do the darkspawn have some sort of weapon that does that, or is that _our_ men?"

_Please, dearest Lady, _she prayed silently once again, _**please**__ watch over the Wardens as they do their duty, and if one of them __**must**__ die, please see him or her safe to the Maker's side!_

Suddenly there was a Voice in her mind, a Voice she'd never heard before, but had been listening for all her life, as she had gone about her duties in the gardens and sanctuary of the chantry in West Reach, as she had prayed in the depths of the night both there and in Denerim. A woman's voice, warm and beautiful, that thrilled her down to the depths of her soul.

_Sing, My meadowlark! Give praise to the Maker, for Ferelden has been delivered this day! The Blight is ended!_

For a moment, she was unable to move, basking in the warmth and love of the Presence. Then it withdrew and she became aware of the world around her once more. Agnetha turned to face the refugees, raising her hands for silence.

"Praise be to the Maker and his Bride, for we have been delivered this day!" she cried, her face glowing. "The Archdemon is dead!"

Brother Genitivi and Mother Boann, who were also in the crowd, looked at each other with raised eyebrows. There was absolute certainty in Agnetha's voice, the sort of certainty it was unthinkable to question. The refugees believed it, and began to cheer. Agnetha raised her chin and opened her mouth and her lovely voice lifted in a paen to the Maker. Her eyes were alight and she was smiling as she sang, but there were tears on her cheeks.

* * *

><p>Wounded coming up from the battlefield could tell Anora and Eleanor little at first, other than that the darkspawn were fleeing, totally routed. About an hour after the explosion, Fergus finally sent a runner up.<p>

"Your Majesty, Teyrna," the young soldier said, bowing deeply. "The Teyrn sends his regards and says to tell you that the Archdemon is dead and that the darkspawn are in retreat. He is currently sending squads through Denerim and about the outskirts to kill as many as possible."

"Is the Teyrn well?" Eleanor promptly asked. The man smiled.

"Very well, my lady. He said you'd ask."

"And what of the Prince and the other Wardens?" Anora inquired.

"The Prince himself slew the Archdemon," the runner said, shaking his head in wonder. "'Tis said that it was marvelous to watch. He was wounded in the explosion afterwards, but has had some healing. They're bringing him back now." Anora and Eleanor both looked at each other and smiled in relief. "The Teyrn has told off men to see him safely back." The soldier turned to look back towards the gates and gestured. "There, you can see them now."

The two women looked to where he was pointing and could see a large group of people moving towards them across the valley. Eleanor looked at Anora, elation on her fine-boned face.

"I'll go tell Wynne he's coming."

* * *

><p>The golem was carrying Corin, and laid him down in the space before the healer's tent. Anora and Eleanor immediately started to go to him, only to be stopped by a bark from Alistair.<p>

"NO, Your Majesty, my lady! Not unless you want to be ghouls! He's covered with Taint! The rest of you, give us some space as well!" Curious onlookers and those who had escorted Corin gave back a few paces, daunted by this new, forceful Alistair.

The golden armor was smeared and dappled with blackish blood, though Corin's face was clean enough, those ridiculous black lashes fanning over his cheeks. Alistair did not stand on ceremony. He and Cauthrien, both about as filthy as Corin, immediately began stripping the Prince of his armor, taking the pieces over to a clear spot of ground well away from the infirmary tents. His clothing followed, save for his smalls and Starfang was placed there as well. Alistair, spying the silk ribbon which still bound his left hand, examined it, then threw Anora an apologetic look.

"Sorry, Your Majesty, but there's Archdemon blood on this," drew his dagger and cut it off, adding it to the pile along with Corin's shirt.

Wynne was waiting with a bottle of herbal concoction the mages were using to wash wounds and hopefully kill the Taint.

"Wynne, get a primal on that stuff as soon as you can, if there is anybody with any juice left. The whole pile needs to be fired. Don't worry about the armor, we can re-strap it again-burn everything else to ash."

"Certainly, Alistair." The old enchanter was wearing a pair of thin leather gloves, and she immediately knelt and began sponging Corin with the liquid, her brow furrowed as she studied him.

"What do you think?" the acting Warden-Commander asked anxiously.

"That someone did an awful lot of healing to keep him here. Skull, ribs, pelvis, a couple of vertebrae cracked and I suspect quite a bit of internal damage. I can still sense the fractures, but they've healed more than I would have thought possible. Was all of this potions?"

"Potions and Morrigan. She was really on her game."

Wynne's eyebrows rose. "Apparently. Has he been conscious at all?"

"No, not yet. Groaned a bit once, that was about it."

She finished the sponge bath with quick efficiency and gestured to a couple of assistants. "Get a stretcher and let's get his Royal Highness inside and warmed up." The men hurried to comply, lifting Corin with gentle respect and laying him on the stretcher. The crowd, seeing that the show was over, began to disperse, muttering things like, "Maker keep you, Your Highness." Wynne was about to follow Corin into the tent when Alistair spoke again.

"Wynne. I need something else from you."

She turned back, her wrinkled face puzzled, but also gently compassionate. "I can't give you any guarantees yet, Alistair. I don't know enough about what is going on with Corin. But I think he's just in some sort of shock and will most likely wake up eventually."

"That's not what I need. I need every clean, empty potion bottle you can give me. And I need _you_. Now. Grey Warden business."

Her grey eyebrows arched in surprise, but she nodded. "I'll have someone see what can be found for you in the supply tent. And find someone to look after Corin. I'm at your disposal, of course. By the way, where's Surana? She didn't…" her voice trailed off.

Alistair shook his head. "She's fine. Well not fine, exactly, she _way_ over-extended herself and is a bit off her head from too much lyrium. I left her with Irving and the other mages. I figured they'd know best what to do."

Wynne nodded, seeming to be genuinely relieved, which spoke well of her, since she obviously returned Surana's dislike. "You did just as you ought. They'll be able to sort her out, unless she really took too much, in which case…"

Alistair felt a pang of grief at the thought, that the intrepid little enchanter might die after all she'd accomplished. Wynne, seeing his face, temporized.

"It doesn't happen often, Alistair, and primals are usually pretty resistant since they throw so much right back out. She'll more than likely be all right. She just won't be throwing any more magic than lights a candle for the next bit and maybe not even that. It will hurt too much." She sighed and rolled her shoulders wearily. "Let me see what I can find for you in the way of bottles. What about the rest of them?" She gestured towards the rest of the party, and Alistair turned to his companions.

"Everything off and in the fire pile, like we did with Corin, down to the smalls and go wash up. Shale, you're caked. You need to stand still and let some of the mages go over you with Burning Hands. I know it will smart, but _please_, don't squish them."

The golem's brows drew down. "I can't say that I'm much pleased at the prospect, but it is true, I don't sparkle at all at present. Very well, then."

Zevran Arainai chuckled. "Here we are, songbird, the two of us getting publicly naked at once and I'm too damned tired to care. Fate is cruel." Leliana giggled, but Sten shot the assassin a glare.

"Do you never think of _anything _but fornication?" the Qunari growled. Zevran seemed to give the question a moment's serious consideration before shaking his head.

"No, not really."

Pooka looked towards the tent wherein Corin had vanished and whined plaintively. Alistair laid a hand on his collar.

"Sorry, Pook, you can't go in there just now. Not until you're clean."

"What are we going to do about _him_?" Leliana asked. "You can't do Burning Hands on Pooka."

"I know. Pook will just have to be washed with that herbal stuff, really, really thoroughly. I'll do it myself when I come back. Until then, you're with me and Cauthrien, Pook. And no licking yourself!" The mabari made one of his grumbling sighs, then flopped onto the ground to await further orders.

* * *

><p>Wynne's assistants were able to find two chests full of potion bottles in varying sizes and Alistair took an oxcart to carry them in, as well as some of the herbal concoction. He'd seen how Cauthrien was limping and Wynne was obviously exhausted. He acquired some blankets and food as well, thinking that they might just want to camp on the roof for the night, rather than try to make it back across the valley yet again.<p>

"Why don't you bed down in the back, Wynne?" he suggested as they prepared to start out. "Get some rest. I'll need you to be able to cast when we get where we're going."

"I take it this is not a fight?" the old enchanter asked.

"No. We're collecting something and we need you to preserve it."

"Collecting…Oh, I see. Of course. Thank you, I think I will get a nap." Alistair made all of the blankets into a reasonably well-padded nest for Wynne, who drew the last one over herself and immediately fell into slumber. Pooka hopped up on the seat with Alistair and Cauthrien, looking abut watchfully as they progressed slowly across the valley.

The sun had long set, and the moon was well risen in the now-clear sky, lighting their way quite nicely. Tendrils of fog were rising over the field. Alistair couldn't hear any signs of combat. It was uncanny, how quickly the huge number of darkspawn had just melted away. Scattered across the valley in random places were campfires, where the squads pursuing the darkspawn had stopped for the night and made camp.

"We need to talk," Cauthrien said in a low voice after they'd been traveling for about half an hour.

Alistair threw a glance over his shoulder at the sleeping mage and shook his head.

"I know. But now is not the time."

"Are you all right with her knowing about this, by the way?"

"Better Wynne than anyone else. She reveres Grey Wardens. And besides, I think she might already know about it. Duncan had the Circle mages making the Joining potion at Ostagar."

Cauthrien frowned. "Really? That doesn't make any sense at all! How can you keep one of the biggest secrets of the Order if you're letting random Circle mages make your Joining potions? Shouldn't you have your own mages doing it?"

"Duncan didn't have any Warden mages in the Fereldan Wardens and apparently they'd not sent him any from any place else," Alistair admitted, then with a sigh, added, "I have to agree with you on that one, Cauthrien. Don't tell Corin, but I'm beginning to think that a lot of what the Grey Wardens do doesn't make any sense." _Including some of the stuff Duncan did…_

* * *

><p>Ever afterwards, that night was graven on Alistair's memory as something almost as horrible as the day's battle, for he was beyond bone weary when he'd begun, but knew that there was no choice but to complete the gruesome task. It might have even been left too late as it was, the magical virtue in the Archdemon's blood fading shortly after its death.<p>

_Which is the __**First Warden's **__own damned fault for not sending any Wardens in here to help us! I guess he figured that there would be no way we'd succeed, that he could just let Ferelden be Blighted to death and kill the Archdemon someplace more __**convenient**__, with a whole company of Wardens and Warden mages to bleed it dry. But now no one is here but Cauthrien and myself, and Wynne. I certainly hope he's got enough of Andoral's blood on hand to last __**another**__ four hundred years, if this is spoiled! What a colossal __**idiot**__! He may very well have single-handedly killed his own Order!_

Cauthrien had a good hand with oxen, having grown up on a farm with them. Slow as they were, they were bound to be more placid than horses would have been about going up the corpse-choked road into the city. Alistair found himself dozing as he sat, and jerked upright guiltily. Cauthrien looked over at him and smiled.

"It's all right, so long as we're not both napping at once. Tell you what-you let me take a nap right now while we're out in the valley, then I'll let you nap when we're in the city, since I'm better at handling these big boys."

It was a very sensible solution to the problem. He took up the goad and let Cauthrien settle against him. She was asleep and softly snoring in moments, as any experienced soldier would be.

* * *

><p>He got his own respite in when they reached the city, though the little nap made him crave full-fledged slumber that much more. When he awoke, they were at the gates of Drakon. Blinking blearily, he looked about in puzzlement.<p>

"How did you get the oxen up the steps?"

"There are back ways up to the palace. Delivery routes and such. I know this city," Cauthrien said, wincing as she got down from the cart. "But we're on foot from here on out. You go wake Wynne up and I'll see to the oxen."

It took some serious shaking, more than he would have liked, to wake Wynne, and she looked even blearier than he did when he succeeded, looking about in mild confusion for a moment before she oriented herself.

"You're going to have to carry the chests up by hand, aren't you?" she asked Alistair.

"Afraid so. We're going to be here a while," he responded. "And you have to make both those trips with us, because we don't want to leave anyone alone."

Wynne looked about the still, moonlit city, eerily silent after the tumult of the day. "That's not a problem," she said with a hint of her usual briskness. "I definitely think I prefer two trips with you to the alternative."

* * *

><p>Getting those chests of bottles across the valley, through the city and up to the roof was Alistair's ride to Redcliffe, he decided in the end. It was laborious and endlessly, torturously wearisome. Once they were in Drakon there were half a dozen times when he wanted to simply stop and slump down against one of the walls and sleep, the darkness within the fortress not helping matters, but the thought that they might miss out on saving the Archdemon's blood drove him on. The relief he felt when they finally had all of the bottles out on the roof and Wynne surveyed the Archdemon and said the blood was still fresh enough to have virtue was overwhelming. And short-lived, when she added that they needed to get moving to draw what they could before dawn.<p>

"Sun-change sometimes alters the magical properties of things. It was killed right before sunset and that doesn't seem to have affected matters, but I don't think we want to take a chance now, do we?"

Both Wardens agreed that that was certainly the case and stifling groans, took up bottles, and began to look for likely places to bleed the dead monster.

* * *

><p>They finished just before dawn. Alistair and Cauthrien would fill the bottles, then wipe them down. Wynne would spell each one individually without touching it, then the Wardens would put the bottles away in the chests.<p>

As the eastern sky grew pink, they wearily surveyed their handiwork.

"Think upon it," Wynne said reverently. "This is centuries, _generations_ of Grey Wardens here." Which rather definitively answered the question about whether she knew exactly what the blood was for. She probably _was _the person who'd prepared the potion at Ostagar, in which case Duncan had trusted her and Alistair had certainly made the right choice to include her.

Looking upon the preserved blood, Alistair felt anything _but_ reverent, his mood darkened by exhaustion, his earlier reflections upon political stupidity and not knowing his best friend's fate. "I know just what _Corin_ would think of this," he told Cauthrien in a mutter that reached her ears alone. When his fellow Warden gave him a quizzical look, he smiled grimly. "_Leverage_."


	40. Chapter 40

Thanks to Mike 3207 (x 2!), Bluumberry, SgtGinger, Jordan Mathias, FireKing500, SuperGravyMan, Liso66, Garm88, karthik9, spectre4hire, Ronin Kenshin, Genericrandom, Nightbrainzz, reality deviant, Suilven, lazyguy90 and mille libri for all the encouragement, questions and helpful suggestions about the last chapter. I never imagined I'd hit 200K words with this story-it's the interest and enthusiasm on the part of my readers and reviewers that has done it as much as I have.

As of chapter four-ought (Wow!), we are now officially in a Morrigan-free zone.

* * *

><p>"So-why isn't Corin <em>dead<em>? Isn't that what was supposed to have happened?" Alistair had known that Cauthrien would not let matters rest. Their work done, the three of them had fallen asleep right there on the roof as the sun rose, on the ballista platform the Arl of West Hills had taken refuge on. All of the wounded had been removed from the roof, but they'd been awakened about three hours later by soldiers coming up to remove the bodies of the fallen. Fergus was apparently not going to let his fallen languish, to become food for the crows. There was already a faint scent of burning meat in the air.

Wynne, however, was still asleep and Cauthrien had taken advantage of the situation to draw Alistair aside, out of possible earshot of both the mage and the soldiers.

Alistair rubbed his face and his hair. He'd not had near enough sleep, his mouth tasted like a midden and he knew he reeked of blood and worse things. A hot bath would have been a gift beyond price, but he would have settled for cold water or even a handy rainstorm. His stomach was audibly protesting. But such things were going to have to wait to be addressed until Cauthrien was answered.

"Yes, that's what should have happened. But Morrigan told me before she left that she'd convinced Corin to do a ritual with her. It was something that her mother Flemeth had cooked up. She was to get pregnant by a Warden, so as to be carrying a child with the Taint. When the Archdemon was killed, its soul would go into the child rather than the Warden. The Warden would be spared and Morrigan would have a baby with the soul of an Old God that was freed of the Taint."

"So that is where the Old God is now? In Morrigan?"

"As far as I could tell. She was doing healing spells one after the other on Corin, with hardly a breath between."

"Why would she do such a thing? For the power of it?"

"I know what _she_ told me. But I need to give you a bit of history first."

"I'm listening."

"We first met Morrigan and her mother Flemeth in the Korcori Wilds. Duncan had charged me with taking the new recruits out and getting vials of darkspawn blood for their Joining potions. I was also supposed to retrieve some old Grey Warden treaties for the dwarves, the mages and the Dalish that were hidden in an old Grey Warden outpost there. We got the blood, but the treaties were gone when we reached the outpost. That's where we met Morrigan, who said that her mother had them. Her mother's name was Flemeth and she was known as the Witch of the Wilds."

"_The_ Flemeth? That story was _centuries _ago!" Cauthrien's face was skeptical.

"I'll let you be the judge when you hear the rest of it. Morrigan took us to her mother. Flemeth gave us the treaties, said she'd been protecting them. Warned us that this Blight was more than we thought it was. We went back to Duncan, and did the Joining. One of the recruits tried to back out at the last moment and Duncan killed him. The other didn't survive the Joining itself. Only Corin came away a Warden. Duncan and Corin went off to a strategy meeting with the king and Loghain. Cailan charged Corin and myself with lighting the beacon in the Tower of Ishal."

"That was the two of you?"

Alistair nodded. "And a couple of other fellows-a soldier and a Circle mage whose names we never got. The tower was overrun with darkspawn and we had to fight our way all the way to the top, where an ogre was waiting for us. That first ogre was no fun at all-we've both gotten a lot better at it since. Killed the ogre, lit the beacon-and more darkspawn came pouring into the tower and riddled everyone there with arrows."

"I will note that you still seem to be here."

"Corin and I woke in a hut in the Wilds. Flemeth's hut. She'd saved us. Morrigan said her mother had claimed to have turned into a giant bird and plucked both of us from the tower, one in each talon. Then she healed us. I personally think it was a dragon, but I have no memory of the rescue and neither does Corin."

"A dragon? Why?"

"More on that in a bit. When we were awake, Flemeth told us of Loghain's treachery."

Cauthrien started to speak, then shut her mouth, her cheeks reddening. Alistair lifted an eyebrow and continued.

"She said she'd saved us because we were the last two Wardens in Ferelden. She encouraged us to use the treaties to raise an army to fight the Blight. And she sent Morrigan with us to help, or so we thought at the time."

"So Morrigan was the first of your companions to join you."

"Yes. She'd been with us the longest." Cauthrien's mouth twitched upward as she watched Alistair's expression go sour for a moment. Brief as her membership in Corin's company had been, she'd noticed the antipathy between Alistair and the wilder witch.

"When Corin and Morrigan were in the Circle tower, they found one of Flemeth's grimoires that had been stolen from her a long time ago. When Morrigan read it, she discovered how Flemeth had survived for so long. She raised up girl children of power and when they were grown and trained, she possessed them. I don't know if they were her actual daughters or just girls she stole and raised, but from what the Chantry taught me of blood magic, I'm inclined towards the former. Morrigan was sure that she was next, probably in the near future. There were legends of Flemeth rearing daughters and eating their hearts. She asked Corin to kill her mother and take Flemeth's main grimoire so that she could save herself. Corin agreed to do it."

"Did Corin ever ask to _see _the passages in the grimoire that spoke of this supposed possession?"

"No. But he doesn't read Arcanum, so I don't know that it would have done any good even if he had."

"Why would she need the other grimoire if her mother was already dead?"

"When Flemeth dies, according to Morrigan, she gets over it after a while." Cauthrien's eyebrows lifted.

"So he basically took Morrigan at her word. Were they sleeping together then?"

"Oh yes. They had been since Orzammar, where we went first."

"Were you there when Corin went after Flemeth?"

"Yes, I was with him."

"So despite the fact that she'd saved both of your lives and the Grey Warden treaties, you killed her?"

Alistair nodded and this time it was his turn to blush. "It does sound bad, doesn't it? When we confronted her, Flemeth actually offered to give the grimoire to Corin and go away. She told him to tell Morrigan she was dead. But I guess Corin was worried she'd just go after Morrigan anyway and Morrigan wouldn't be expecting it, so he fought her instead. She turned into a high dragon to fight us. She didn't seem overly surprised or bothered before she changed, said it had happened before. People going after her, I guess that's what she meant."

"So what happened after you killed her?"

"We took the book back to Morrigan and went on pursuing the treaties. Then she broke off with Corin. She told me he was in love with her and she didn't want to hurt him any more than she had."

"Or she had what she wanted, the big grimoire, and didn't need him any more."

"That's what I thought at the time," Alistair agreed. "We went to Denerim and _you_ know what happened there." He gave Cauthrien an ironic eyebrow. She dropped her eyes and nodded her head. Drakon had apparently not been forgotten or forgiven.

"Morrigan came to him at some point, I'm not sure exactly when, and wanted him to do the ritual Flemeth had sent her to do, but for herself instead. I had always wondered why Flemeth went to all that trouble to save Corin and me from the Tower of Ishal. I mean yes, we were the last two Wardens in the country, but we were only very junior Wardens. There were other ways to get better Wardens into Ferelden to fight the Blight. But apparently what we _were_ was her best chance to get a couple of young Warden studs for her daughter. Because we were newly enough Joined that we could still give Morrigan a baby. Wardens do have children, but it's usually right after they're Joined if it happens at all. She needed a Tainted child for the ritual to work."

Cauthrien's brow furrowed. "Children of Wardens are born Tainted? I didn't know that."

"Apparently they are in some way. I never knew that either-more stuff no one thought was important enough to tell me, I guess."

"Do they turn into ghouls or darkspawn after they're born?"

"I don't know that either, but Morrigan didn't seem to think so. And I don't think a ghoul or darkspawn child would have been useful to Flemeth. Though she might have had some way of altering it or controlling or suppressing the change. She was a _really _powerful mage." Alistair took a moment to stretch before continuing. "So anyway, Flemeth had rescued us so she could get the God-child from Morrigan, most likely to possess it. Morrigan decided to go ahead and do the ritual even though Flemeth was dead, because she wasn't going to stay dead and Morrigan wanted a powerful ally to help her when Flemeth came back. Or at least that's what Morrigan told me when she was healing Corin. Said something about he'd said that he'd done the ritual for her, but Morrigan thought he'd really done it to save me."

Cauthrien yawned, then stretched in her turn until Alistair could hear her joints creak. She flexed her bad leg and winced.

"I am trying very hard not to think badly of the Prince right now, because from what I can see, he was thinking with his little sword and not his head through all of this."

"It was more than just sex, Cauthrien. You were there. You know that they loved each other."

"Yes. Apparently enough that he was willing to risk all of Ferelden and Thedas for her."

"That's kind of harsh, don't you think?"

"Is it? What happens if this child transforms at some point back into an Archdemon and we've got an extra Blight on our hands?"

"And what if it just lives its life as a normal human? That could happen too!"

"I'm thinking the former is more likely. Or some other catastrophic outcome, like if this Flemeth does come back." Cauthrien snorted. "Come _on_, Alistair! I know that Corin is your best friend, but you don't have a _problem_ with this?"

Alistair scratched his head distractedly.

"_Of course _I have a problem with it! How _much_ of a problem I don't know yet, because I don't know enough about the situation and I won't until Corin wakes up and we talk to him!"

"_If_ he wakes up."

Alistair gave his Warden sister a worried look. "What do you mean by that?"

"What if something went wrong with the ritual? What if it worked, but not in the way Morrigan expected?"

"Her healing spells worked. They wouldn't have if a soul wasn't there."

"Maybe. Or maybe that thing inside her made her strong enough to heal with just the least bit of life there. What if his soul _is _actually gone or trapped or something? And the body just hangs on until it withers into a wizened husk?"

"That's a _really_ depressing thought. But Wynne looked him over. I would have thought she'd notice something like that. Spirit Healer, remember?"

"Got me there," Cauthrien admitted. "Then here's another depressing thought for you to mull over. The Warden who killed the Archdemon is still kicking around and Weisshaupt is going to want to know why. Only said Warden is going to be the King if he's all right, which pretty much puts _him_ out of their reach. Which means that they're going to be coming after _you and me _for answers. You might want to start thinking about what we're going to tell the First Warden."

Alistair gestured towards the two chests. "_That _should help with the dialogue."

"So we basically did this not because it is our duty as Grey Wardens, but to cover Corin's ass? Good to know."

"That's not what I meant!" Alistair said, obviously flustered.

"Then what exactly _did_ you mean? I'm sure you'll understand when I say that I'm not as impressed with Corin as I was an hour ago. Though he planned things out pretty damned well, it seems-he gets to be the Hero of Ferelden and King as well."

Alistair scowled. "You know as well as I do, Cauthrien, that he _didn't _plan that! There was no way to do it."

Cauthrien threw up her hands and grimaced. "You're right, you're right. That's not fair."

"And I will point out that if it _had _gone the other way, whichever of _us _had slain the Archdemon would have been saved as well."

She shrugged. "I don't know about you, but I was all right with dying, Alistair. I would have happily settled for total obliteration and a nice sepulcher in Weisshaupt next to the other Blight-Quellers. It would have cleared my name nicely."

"Well I guess you're just going to have to do it the hard way then, while you're still alive. Which I'm glad of, by the way. I think the Wardens will be better for having you in the Order."

Her disgruntled expression softened. "Thank you for that." Then her voice turned brisk, businesslike. "So-we need to wake Wynne up, get these chests out of the city and someplace secure, get ourselves long, hot baths and a _bunch _of food, sleep for about a week and talk to Corin when he wakes up. Is that the plan?"

"That is _definitely_ the plan."

* * *

><p>When Corin had been thoroughly bathed once more, the healers let Anora and Eleanor into the tent. He was in a clean nightshirt, tucked in a cot with a feather tick beneath and a couple of blankets on top. His hair even looked to have been washed and somehow dried-magic perhaps?, spread in blue-black profusion on the pillow.<p>

Chairs were provided upon either side of the cot and the two ladies settled themselves, studying him in silence for a long moment.

Asleep, with the driven force of his personality muted, Corin looked dreadfully young. Anora took his hand and looked over at Eleanor, who was stroking the hair away from his brow with a pensive, maternal concentration.

"I feel that I should be giving him back to you, to go back to the schoolroom," she admitted wryly.

"No…he's well beyond me now," came Eleanor's soft, regretful response. "The massacre at Highever did that. That djinn is out of the bottle and there won't be any putting it back." She lifted her head and smiled wistfully at the Queen. "I think that he will do well enough in your keeping, Anora."

What neither woman spoke of was the fear that lurked in the room, the possibility that Corin would never wake and any question of possession would be moot.

* * *

><p>It was a beautiful day, the sky that particular burning blue it got in autumn, tiny white clouds scudding across. Warm sun, almost hot, but with a breeze that cooled just enough to make it pleasant. The waves today were moderate. It looked to be good fishing weather, on one of the last good days before winter.<p>

He'd been woolgathering, so he paused for a moment to make sure he'd brought everything. There was a big lunch courtesy of Nan in a sack slung over his shoulder, along with a waterskin _and _a bottle of that nice, fizzy cider from Rainesfere that he liked so much. The seine for the bait fish folded up in the bucket, along with the string for his catch. His fishing pole, of course, with all his extra hooks in the pouch at his belt. He'd already done off his boots and stockings and they were slung over his shoulders by the laces as well. He was totally prepared for a day of fishing. And thinking, and pondering. Sometimes he just liked to get away from everyone so that he could do that.

His favorite fishing spot was clear around the point, further than most people cared to trudge, so he often had it to himself. But that was not the case today. There was a girl there already when he strode up, one of the fisher-girls from the city by her dress, her skirts kirtled well above the knee. The sleeves of her chemise were short and showed an expanse of strong-muscled tan arm, her bare legs were only a little paler and strong as well. She had her seine in the surf and as he watched, lost hold of one end of it.

"Hey there! Grab that, will ya?" she called in a docker accent.

He hastily dropped his equipment and ran into the surf to catch the other end. Together, they pulled it in, a silver shoal of small baitfish tumbling inside. She unceremoniously thrust her share of the net at him.

"Here, hold this! I'll get the buckets!" She ran back up onto the sand and got both of them, emptying Corin's bucket of its equipment before dipping them into the surf to fill them with water. Then she came back and between the two of them, they managed to get a fair amount of the small shiners into each bucket before releasing the rest back into the surf. The fisher girl pushed her hair back out of her eyes when they were done and nodded in satisfaction.

"There! That ought to hold us for a bit. Much obliged, my lord!"

"How did you-"

"With _that _fishing pole? And _those _boots? You've got to be a lord."

Corin bowed. "I have that unfortunate distinction. Corin Cousland, at your service."

The fisher girl smiled. "And I'm Bridey, milord."

Corin looked her over curiously. She looked to be about seventeen and not immediately distinctive-middling height, middling build, tanned skin, a tousled mane of blond hair that had perhaps seen a bit too much sun. Her face was not what would be called classically beautiful either-a bit too narrow and pointed in the chin, with an undistinguished nose and a wide mouth. But it was alive with intelligence and charisma in a way that appealed to him greatly. Her eyes were lovely as well, a changeable blue-green with gold flecks in them. Such was the force of personality she exuded that when she smiled it was hard to look anywhere but at her.

She was smiling now. "Would my lord like me to leave?"

Despite his earlier desire for solitude, Corin found himself curious about the girl. "No, you needn't leave. I don't mind the company. And I brought plenty of lunch with me, if you've a mind to share."

She laughed. Her voice was gorgeous. "Oooooo! Sounds lovely! And what do I have to _do_ to partake of this wonderful lunch?"

Corin looked at her, blankly uncomprehending for a moment before it sank in. "Nothing like that!" he quickly assured her. "Maker! My father would skin me alive!" He wasn't feeling any of that sort of urge as regarded her in any event. He had a dim memory of spending the night before at the Gilded Chalice with Serena and a couple of other ladies.

"_Such_ a gentleman!" Bridey exclaimed, expertly snatching a baitfish out of the bucket for her hook. "Let's fish then, shall we?"

* * *

><p>They fished for a long while, with middling fair success, just enough to keep things interesting. Corin took his shirt off after a while to get some sun and received an appreciative wolf-whistle from the docker girl. Eventually, he suggested that they eat, which suggestion was well-received by Bridey. Nan had packed half a roast chicken, several small pieces of various sorts of cheese, grapes, a little jar of Antivan olives and a small, crusty loaf bread with a crock of butter. There were sugar cookies for dessert. Corin split it between them evenly and uncorked the cider, taking a swig, then politely wiping the mouth so Bridey could have some.<p>

"Coo, now that's what I call a _spread_!" Bridey exclaimed appreciatively. "Much obliged, my lord!" She drank her drink and tore into her share with the ravenous appetite of the hard-working, growing young while Corin watched thoughtfully.

"So-do you work on the boats or in the fish houses?" he asked. His father had always emphasized that communication with the people they ruled was crucial and that sometimes, just by talking to them, you could get wind of much bigger problems that you might have missed otherwise.

"The fish houses. I'm a wonder with the gutting knife, let me tell you."

"Are things all right there?" Bridey threw him a side-long look that told him she knew just what he was about.

"Well enough. Highever is well-ruled, as you know, my lord. But I'm not the one to ask about Highever in any event-I'm just visiting. I'm from Denerim."

"Oh. My apologies."

"Apologies? For having a care for your folk? None needed." She went back to eating with a dedication that precluded further conversation. When she was done, she stood and stretched for a moment, rubbing her belly appreciatively.

"Shall we fish some more, my lord?"

* * *

><p>About half an hour after they resumed fishing, Corin began to feel odd, as if something were very wrong. Odd flashes of memory began afflicting him, of battle with horrible creatures, of forests and strange places beneath the earth, of a woman with hair more purely gold than Bridey's and another with tresses blacker than night. Of a man whom he <em>knew<em> was his brother, but who looked nothing like Fergus. He pulled his line in and dropped his pole above the high-tide line, staggering back to the dune where they'd spread their lunch earlier. Pulling his shirt back on, he dropped onto the sand, drew his knees up and just rested his head upon them, waiting for the odd images to stop. They did not.

He was peripherally aware that Bridey had discarded her pole and was joining him.

"Are you all right, my lord?" Her tone was worried.

"I'm fine. I think I might have gotten a touch too much sun," Corin said. He folded his arms about his head. Silence fell and persisted for about five minutes while the fisher girl watched, concerned. Then the arms unfolded, the head lifted and a pair of incredibly blue eyes gave her a disbelieving stare.

"Really now! '_Bridey_'?"

"It is not commonly appreciated, but I _do_ have a sense of humor," Andraste replied with a limpid smile. "Welcome back, Corin."

* * *

><p>"Is this what you really looked like when you were alive?" Corin asked daringly. He had started to wriggle his knees around so that he could properly kneel and abase himself, only to receive a slap on the shoulder and a "Pshaw! Enough of that!" So he'd settled back onto the sand.<p>

"It's how I was when I was a couple of years younger than you are now," the Maker's Bride obligingly answered.

"The statues don't get it right at all."

"Some of the country ones come close with the nose," Andraste said. "But no, pretty much all of them make me out to be much more…monumental. It's all right. It's the idea of the thing that counts."

"So-I _am_ dead?"

"No, you're not. Yet, that is. If you wanted to be dead, you could be. Given what you've done, you have the choice. Being dead _is_ very restful and I know that your father would be glad to see you."

"What I've _done_? I _cheated! _Aren't you _angry_ with me?"

"Angry for _listening_ to me? So few people do, really. Why should I be angry about that?"

"But I set Urthemiel loose in the world!"

"Yes, that is true. And now Urthemiel has the chance to grow up untainted in human form and perhaps learn a few things. Yes, he might cause a lot of trouble. But he might do a lot of good as well. The others really haven't learned much from being Blighted Archdemons. It wasn't particularly educational. I pointed that out."

"To…?" Corin's eyes were wide.

"To exactly Whom you think." Andraste sighed and shook her head. "Corin, if people always did the exact same things they'd done for centuries, nothing would ever change and improve. The Grey Warden tradition has served humanity well for centuries, but that doesn't mean it's infallible. Your instincts were right about that. So now we'll try something different and hope that you were right when you said that Morrigan could be trusted with power of that magnitude."

"_You_ don't _know_ if she is?"

"Not entirely. There's still that pesky question of free will after all. And Morrigan's will is _very_ free."

"So why am I here, exactly?"

"You're _resting_!" Andraste wrinkled her undistinguished nose at him. "I assumed that a Grey Warden would enjoy having a nice long sleep without darkspawn dreams. Was I wrong?"

"No, of course not, my Lady!"

"And to be honest, you were lost. Almost too far gone in the Fade. Even with the ritual, close proximity to Urthemiel's destruction was a great shock to you. So I've been keeping an eye on you. But you made your way back all by yourself."

"What would have happened if I hadn't?"

"You would have kept on fishing and about sundown your father would have come for you, and I would have let you go with him."

Corin looked wistful for a moment. Andraste smiled an infinitely understanding smile.

"You still can, if you like. Keep fishing and wait for him. I will warn you that if you go back, you're still a Grey Warden. There won't be any miracles. That won't become any easier for you. I gave you my Ashes and you chose to use them on another. Those are one to a customer."

"Your Ashes will cure a Grey Warden?"

"My Ashes will cure anything short of death." She gave him a curious look. "Disappointed?"

"Yes. No. A little, maybe?" Then Corin shook his head. "No, not really. We needed Eamon and we needed all the Wardens we could muster. There wasn't anything else to be done."

"There's my wise young man!" The fisher girl who had called herself Bridey laid her arm across his shoulders and gave him a companionable squeeze. Warm approval and peace flowed through him and Corin sighed, a tension in him that he hadn't even known existed relaxing under her touch. "So-I take it you are going back?"

"I have to. There are too many people counting on me not to."

Andraste released him and smiled. "Very well then. And what do you hope to achieve for Ferelden when you are king?"

Corin grimaced. "Keep as many people as possible _alive_, for a start. After that…when I was at the Circle I saw men who should have been protecting mages standing about waiting for an order to kill them all, innocent and guilty alike, abominations and little children. That's not right. And when I was in the Alienage, I saw elves packed in together in a place that was little better than an open sewer. Despite that, they had a sense of family, of belonging to each other that you don't often see among their so-called betters. And they were being sold like cattle by those so-called betters. That isn't right either." He gestured impatiently. "I've fought with mages like Morrigan and Wynne at my back, and with elves like Nerissa and Zevran. I've trusted them with my life and vice-versa and they've not failed that trust. There has to be _some_ way to change things!"

"I was Shartan's friend and he was mine," Andraste said pensively after a moment. "We respected each other. We each wanted freedom of a certain kind, but I understood that our paths ran together for a time, not forever. It is unfortunate that those who followed after me forgot that, that they misinterpreted my wishes. As for the mages…" She sighed. "'Magic is meant to serve Man, not rule over him.' It wasn't supposed to mean that all mages should be torn from their families as children, imprisoned for their entire lives, threatened with the Rite of Tranquility, abused and molested. It was _supposed _to mean that magic should be used to _better_ the lives of men and that those mages who did that would be free and respected, while those that sought to dominate and do evil would be stopped. The Tevinter Imperium had to be defeated because they were oppressors, conquerors and slavers rather than just because they were mages."

"Men and mages of good intent joined against men and mages of bad intent, rather than just men versus mages."

"Exactly."

"But how to go about changing it? It's like what you said earlier about the Wardens. There are centuries of tradition there."

"I know. And there is no easy way to resolve the problem. I fear that whatever solution is ultimately arrived at, it will be achieved with blood and fire and death and sorrow, even as the changes I wrought were. But that doesn't mean that it shouldn't be done."

Corin looked searchingly into Her face. "Is that what you want me to do?" Andraste smiled lovingly.

"I want you to follow your heart, my son. You have an instinct for what is right and just. Let it guide you. And know that I will always be listening."

"Through Agnetha?"

"And other ways. Though Agnetha is very dear to me, and will have her own trials and burdens to face."

"Shall I look after her for you?"

"Given that she is Chantry, your ability to do that will be limited. But so far as you can, why don't the two of you look after each other?" Corin nodded. The Lady took his face between her brown, callused hands suddenly and kissed his brow. That warmth and peace flooded through him once more.

"You are My knight, Corin Cousland. Go forth and slay the dragons that _really_ count." Light bloomed and took the beach away.

* * *

><p>For three days the Crown Prince of Ferelden had languished in a stupor in the healers' tents and the uncertainty of his ultimate fate darkened what should have been a joyous victory. Tended by Wynne and the other healers, he was fed fluids at intervals, kept spotlessly clean, turned and massaged, but he never moved or responded in any way to any of it.<p>

"Corin could wake tomorrow," Wynne told the queen, teyrn and teyrna, her expression troubled, "or he could languish for months like this before fading away. I can't tell you which will happen, but we will do our best for him." She'd slept like a stone on the trip back across the valley, but had forced herself back to her feet upon her arrival and had attended Corin ceaselessly since, taking naps in one of the chairs by his bedside. All of the companions had spent time there and Pooka was a permanent fixture at the foot, having to be coaxed out at intervals to eat and do his business. At a tree outside the tent, a small, impromptu shrine had sprung up with candles and small pieces of prayer-inscribed parchment, asking the Maker and Andraste to spare Ferelden's prince. There was usually always some off-duty soldier or mage there praying and sometimes a small knot of silent people gathered, watching the tent and waiting.

Alistair had bathed upon his return, visited Corin, then had gone back out, eaten a huge meal and collapsed over the table, not waking up until the following morning. Cauthrien had done much the same. After another visit, finding Corin unchanged, he'd gone back off to Denerim with Cauthrien to oversee the squads moving into the city to deal with the Taint. Though he would have preferred to stay with his Warden brother, he and Cauthrien were the people best able to determine which places could be cleansed of Taint and which needed to be burnt to the ground. It had taken repeated Firestorms at the gate to make that area safe for passage, so much darkspawn blood had been spilled there. The earth around the road before the gate had actually fused to glass, the heat was so intense.

Starting with the Palace, it was soon determined that the darkspawn, for whatever reason, had left it pretty much alone, and that the food stores within were not contaminated. When brought this news, Fergus decided that it was time to move the royalty back into Denerim, along with enough troops to make a respectable guard. There was also construction beginning on a tent city outside of Denerim; canvas-roofed wooden-walled platforms that would serve as interim housing for some of the people coming back to the city. It was hardly perfect, particularly with winter coming on, but it was preferable to camping among Tainted ruins. Some of the dwarves had offered advice upon drainage and sanitary sewers for the refugee camp and it had been gladly accepted. The healers, mage and mundane, were expecting an outbreak of sickness in a vulnerable population exposed to the elements and not eating as much as they should. Food was already under strict ration by the Queen's order, though the unofficial Grey Warden ration was twice that of a regular human. The extra food Cauthrien and Alistair so desperately needed was slipped to them back in their tent, so as to not arouse ire.

On the morning of the fourth day, Corin Cousland was taken by wagon back into the royal city. It was a crisp, clear day, so the wagon was uncovered so that the people could see him. The arrangement looked entirely too much like a bier for Anora's liking-he was covered to the chest with a banner with the Ferelden royal arms over the blankets and Starfang was in his hands. But it was certainly a respectful display. Soldiers of all races and such refugees who were already coming back had turned out to line the entire way and all heads bowed and all knees bent in silent homage as he passed.

Anora was only too happy to get him back into the bed he'd occupied so briefly in the royal suite, since it made him look more like a patient and less like a corpse. She could not spend much time with him, however, for she was needed elsewhere for the countless meetings and duties that required her attention. So Eleanor and Wynne and the companions kept watch in her absence.

The teyrna was still there late that night, when Anora was finally free to seek her rest. She looked up from the book she was reading when Anora entered and smiled sadly.

"Still no change. He hasn't moved a bit. Wynne was in here just a little while ago. You should get some rest, Anora-you look exhausted and that's not good for you in your condition." Anora nodded, then an idea occurred to her. She kicked off her shoes and began fumbling with the fastenings of her dress. The teyrna gave her a questioning look.

"I'll sleep here. The bed is plenty big enough." Eleanor nodded thoughtfully.

"That it is. And it can hardly hurt and may even help." She rose and played lady's maid for the Queen, taking her dress and shoes and setting them neatly over the chair at the desk. Still clad in her underthings, chemise and stockings, Anora pulled back the covers and slid into the bed beside Corin. Moving close, she laid her head upon his shoulder and pulled the covers up.

The teyrna smiled, looking down at them. "With you this close to him, I think I'll go get some rest myself. And I'll tell Erlina where you are. Good night, Your Majesty."

"Good night, Eleanor. And thank you for everything."

* * *

><p>Anora woke some hours later, with the sense that something was wrong or different. It took but a moment to realize that her head was no longer resting on Corin's shoulder, that she was on her side with her head pressed up against the pillow and his warm bulk spooned up against her. An arm was even thrown across her, right under her breasts.<p>

"Corin?" she murmured, but there was no response. Nonetheless, it was an exciting development-until she realized that Wynne or one of the other healers must have moved him, as they did periodically to keep him from getting bedsores. _I was in the way._

It was a logical conclusion, if a disheartening one. But it was comforting to be close to Corin nonetheless, so she snuggled back against him and let sleep claim her once more.

* * *

><p>"Anora." There was warm breath in her hair and a somewhat raspy voice speaking in her ear. In her sleep-bemused state it took a moment to realize that the voice was coming from <em>behind <em>her and that it had been repeating her name for some time. When that sank in, she immediately rolled over and pushed herself up on one elbow. Corin was staring back at her.

"How long?" he asked.

Anora looked out the window at the pre-dawn darkness. "From the look of things, it's almost dawn of the fifth day since you killed the Archdemon."

"_Five days! _You'd better catch me u-" Anora's arms were suddenly about Corin's neck, his face was being covered with kisses, and to her dismay and surprise, she broke into a veritable storm of tears. Wynne had warned her that such might happen because of the pregnancy humors, but it wasn't as embarrassing as it might have been, since it was just the two of them.

Corin's brows drew down in distress. He lifted a feeble arm and laid it about her shoulders. "Hush now, Anora," came his raspy whisper. "I'm sorry to have frightened you. I promised to come back if I could and I did. It just took longer than I thought it would."


	41. Chapter 41

Thanks to ChaosWind2, none, JordanMathias, Suilven, Tsu Doh Nimh (x4!), The-Demon-of-Soul-Society, Nightbrainzz, lazyguy90, SuperGravyMan, karthik9, Genericrandom, Mike3207, csorciere, spectre4hire, RoninKenshin, Liso66, Rake1810 and Ventisquear for the reviews. Over 700. Wow, as Alistair would say.

He's got a lot more to say this chapter.

I must credit Tsu Doh Nimh's excellent story The Telling Tale for some of the very logical, lingering after-effects of too much lyrium. His Surana is a lot of fun to read and way more scary than mine!

* * *

><p>Two days earlier:<p>

Nerissa Surana groaned, and rolled over on the cot. Footsteps approached, and a cool hand was laid on her forehead.

"Nerissa? Are you awake?" It was Petra's voice.

She groped for the edge of the coverlet, and pulled it back over her head. "Don' wanna be. Go 'way, Petra."

Petra tried to pull the blanket down, but was resisted. Exasperated, she said, "Nerissa, you need to drink something! I've been spooning broth into you for two days now. If you're awake and can take care of yourself, I'd really appreciate it if you _would_! We've got plenty of _wounded _here needing care, after all."

Eyes whose veins were oddly bloodshot (the veins showed _blue), _peeked above the edge of the blanket.

"Maker, but you lay the guilt on with a trowel, Petra!" Nerissa grumbled, surrendering to the inevitable. Wynne's former apprentice smiled gently.

"Whatever works. How are you feeling?"

"Like a horde of darkspawn used me for their own personal doormat."

"Well you're lucky to be feeling anything at all! I think you just shattered the record for most lyrium taken per pound of body weight and surviving. The First Enchanter wants to have a word with you when you're up and about."

"Oh, goody. But he's okay then? How did we do?"

Petra sighed. "We lost a couple more. Hollis and Eivelyn. On the way up to Drakon, I think. But they were the last. You had us worried too, and you should take it easy for a while. In the _mages'_ tents. We need this bed."

"Yeah, yeah, I got that part. Whatever." She pushed herself up and rolling her legs over the edge of the cot, sat up gingerly. Petra promptly gave her a tankard of water, which she drank thirstily with slightly shaky hands. When she was done, she groaned. "Great! Now I need to-" Petra thrust a chamber pot into her hands.

"Can you manage?"

"Do I have a _choice_?"

"Not really. I'll send someone for that in a bit. You might see about getting dressed. There are some robes at the foot of the bed. And someone left you something. It's there too."

Nerissa managed to deal with the chamber pot (there was blue in _that_ as well) and set it aside. Petra was at least courteous when evicting people-she had left soap, a towel, a washcloth and a washbasin with steaming water in it on the table beside Nerissa's bed. The elf enchanter made free use of it, doing her face and arms and upper chest, though it seemed as though she'd been bathed while she was unconscious and wasn't particularly dirty. When she was finished, she looked to the foot of the bed, where a couple of surprises awaited her. The first was a set of smallish robes in Senior Enchanter red. The second…

She remembered seeing this sword in action, in the Wilder witch's hand. Glowing blue-white silverite, crafted in what looked to be an Elvish fashion, it was apparently every bit as much a spell focus as a staff was, as well as a melee weapon. There was a piece of parchment tied about the blade's sheath, just beneath the guard. _For Surana, _it was labeled. Nerissa reached for it and unrolled it. There were a few lines of writing on the other side in the same bold, spiky hand.

_This is Spellweaver. I no longer have need for her. She was crafted by the elves in ages past to be wielded by just such a one as you. You are more of a warrior than you know. M._

Slowly, Nerissa pulled the blade a hand's span out of the scabbard, looking at the tracery of runes upon it. Then she re-sheathed it, and laid it across her legs, stroking the sheath in awe for a moment. _Morrigan said that she was leaving. But I never imagined she would give me a good-bye gift after such short acquaintance, particularly one such as __**this**__! Although I guess something like this is not very useful in the Wilds. At least you can use a staff for a walking stick! _That made her think of her new staff. She laid the sword aside, then looked around for it, finding it beneath the cot. It joined Spellweaver on the bed, then Nerissa stood and began wriggling her way into the clean robes. She was very sore, as she'd told Petra, but even the small exercise she was getting had made her feel better, had helped with the aches.

As she dressed, she tried to think back on what had happened after the battle. Most of it was pretty blurry-by then she'd been seeing things through a haze of blue. She was sure she'd kicked the Archdemon-the toes on that foot were still sore. And she dimly remembered being carried by the Warden named Alistair Theirin for quite a while, until he'd found Irving and the other mages. They'd talked about falling off the roof and flying away and…a very vivid tactile memory came back to her then and she groaned inwardly.

_Great! Not only did I kiss the man, I grabbed his ass as well! I'll bet he thinks I'm a total whore! 'Circle-Sluts of Kinloch' and all that!_

But there was nothing to be done about it now. And she didn't know if she'd be seeing the tall, fair-haired Warden again in any event. He had his darkspawn to hunt and she would be going back to the Circle.

_Speaking of which, I guess I'd better find Irving. And some food that isn't broth or lyrium while I'm about it!_

* * *

><p>Irving found her, sitting by the campfire that belonged to the mages, a bowl of buttered porridge from the pot that hung over it in her hands. She'd been a bit wobbly in the legs, but found herself still able to navigate well enough to acquire something to eat.<p>

"Ah, there you are," he said mildly. His manner had always been mild with her, particularly during her training. It had proven to be an oddly effective strategy for dealing with her volatile nature. "It's good to see you up and about, Nerissa. I don't have to give you a lecture upon the perils of lyrium poisoning, do I?"

"Hi, Boss. No, you don't. I think I figured that one out all on my own."

"Albeit none too soon." His grey eyebrows arched. "You weren't going suicidal on me, were you?" Mages had been known to snap from the continual confinement of the Circle, though Irving did his best to prevent it.

"_No!" _Nerissa scoffed. "It's just that…well, I figured that it was all or nothing with the Archdemon, that I needed to throw absolutely everything I could. And with the lyrium, I could throw a _lot_."

"Apparently. I've heard the stories. The Wardens were very impressed with you, both with the strength of your spells and your ability to coordinate tactically with them. You did the Circle credit."

"Thanks, Boss. Who loaned me the robes, by the way?"

"Lyse. She was closest to your size."

"That was very nice of her, but I'd better find some greenies and give hers back to her. Wouldn't want people thinking I'm something more than I am."

"The sentiment does you credit, Nerissa, but it's not a problem, since you aren't claiming to be something you're not."

"Boss, these are _Senior Enchanter _robes!"

Irving smiled, obviously enjoying himself. "Exactly."

"But…that means…_Me?_ How?"

"Nerissa, myself and two other Senior Enchanters saw you cast Storm of the Century. You have full Primal mastery and enough knowledge of other spell areas that you could do that very difficult combination. That's Senior Enchanter-level work. Congratulations."

"But I'm too young!"

"One of the youngest in the last couple of centuries, that's true. A tribute to my teaching methods. And my patience. And perseverance. And iron will and nerve…"

"Ha ha, Boss."

"Seriously, it's been voted on. It's official."

"I'll bet it wasn't a _unanimous_ vote," Nerissa said darkly.

"There were cautionary voices raised," the First Enchanter admitted. "But enough people thought it was past time that it carried the day."

"_Past_ time? Wow. Does the Knight-Commander know?"

"That you've been turned lose upon Thedas? Oh, yes. You may consider him to have been one of the cautionary voices." Irving smiled a very satisfied smile, remembering his discussion with Gregoir about Nerissa's promotion. The Knight-Commander's blood had been well up indeed when they were done.

"Oh, that's _right_! I can leave the Tower now! Go to mage conferences and upstage Wynne! The possibilities are _endless_! A boundless horizon lies before me!"

"Nerissa…"

"Sorry. Got carried away there for a moment. So what happens now? When are we going back to Kinloch?"

"We're not, not any time soon at least. There's too much to do here and the Queen has requested that we stay. There are all the wounded to deal with and most of our primals are currently going out into the city with the two Wardens, burning off the Taint so that people can go back in and start rebuilding. I don't want you to hurt yourself casting too early, but as soon as you can do a Burning Hands safely, we can use you."

"Sure thing, Boss. Searing fleshy growths a specialty here."

One of the enchanters, seeing Irving standing there, hastened over with a camp stool. The First Enchanter lowered himself into it gratefully with a word of thanks.

"There's also the question of the Blighted land," he continued, once he was seated. The same enchanter brought him a mug of tea. He nodded to the man in gratitude. "The Queen thinks it would be best to set aside a plot of it as a test area, so that we can see if there's any magical way to clear it. And if there is…"

"Then we could be busy outside of the Tower for _years_!" Nerissa breathed. "Maker!"

"Indeed. I don't want to downplay the tragedy this Blight has been, but this is quite the opportunity for us. We may even need to bring in mages from other Circles, if we can find a way to cleanse the land. I'm going to need you, Nerissa. You've got a better instinct for primal magic than a lot of mages twice your age. But I'll need you on your best behavior."

"Yes, Boss," Nerissa muttered, feeling somewhat chastened.

"When you're feeling better, report to Warden Theirin. He's the one handling the cleansing of the city at present."

"Warden Theirin?" Nerissa's face fell. Her obvious dismay caused Irving to chuckle.

"It's all right. He knows that you weren't yourself at the time."

"Actually, from what little I can remember, I was being _more_ myself than usual at the time."

"Oh dear."

"What happened with the Prince, Boss?" she asked, in a desperate attempt to change the subject. Irving sighed and folded his hands around his cup.

"He has not woken up yet. He appears to be comatose, not merely asleep. The healers are very worried."

"I'm sorry to hear that. He was very nice to me. I asked to join him and he just started treating me like I was one of his people and had been all along. I'll say a prayer for him."

"You'll have a lot of company in that." The First Enchanter gestured to the darkspawn staff that lay beside her. "I see that you've replaced your standard Tower-issue staff. And whatever are you doing with a _sword_ stuck through your belt? Not that it isn't a nicely piratical effect. Why don't you tell me about your journey with the Prince up to the roof of Drakon?"

* * *

><p>"My stomach is a wild animal trying to gnaw its way out of my body, Anora," Corin complained, when the tears had subsided and they'd had a few minutes of contented cuddling.<p>

"No doubt!" she exclaimed guiltily. "You've not eaten in so long!" Looking upon him, she realized that his face was decidedly gaunt, more so than might be expected for a non-Warden deprived of food for that length of time. "Let me get you something to drink as well!"

"That would be nice."

Anora rang the bell and Erlina came into the room. She stopped in her tracks at the sight of a conscious Corin.

"Your Royal Highness! You are well?"

"Better than I was, Erlina. Good morning!"

"You will be wanting something to eat, I am sure. Something light for your stomach, to accustom it once more to food. I shall see to it."

"Some tea as well, Erlina, please," Anora said.

"Yes, Your Majesty." She departed.

"Something _light_?" Corin's nose wrinkled. "I don't think sickroom food is going to suffice, Anora."

"Perhaps not, but at the very least it will give you the strength to hold on until we can get you something more substantial. Would you like to sit up? I can help you."

"Thank you, I'd appreciate that." He rolled up onto an elbow with a wince, while Anora got up and pulled the pillows out from beneath him, setting them back against the headboard.

"Are you in pain?" she asked in concern.

He gestured across his mid-section. "My back, and all across here. And my hips. My head too, a little. But none of it's severe-more of an ache."

"Wynne said that you broke some ribs, your pelvis and your back in two places. The explosion hurled you into a wall. You also cracked your skull. You wouldn't be here at all if Morrigan hadn't healed you before she left."

After a moment's frozen stillness, Corin sighed. "She did leave then?"

"Yes. Right after the battle. She spoke to Alistair before she left, so you might want to speak to him."

"Oh, I need to speak to Alistair for any number of reasons."

With a few more winces and a pained hiss or two, Corin managed to scoot back into a sitting position against the mound of pillows.

"I don't know how long I want to sit like this," he admitted when he was in position, a bit of discomfort on his face. "I almost feel like it would be more comfortable to sit in a chair with a high back-this featherbed is soft and doesn't give a lot of support. Or maybe lay on the couch. But I'm not sure I'm up to getting out of bed yet. Perhaps we can try that tomorrow."

Anora placed some more pillows behind him, in the small of his back. "Is that better?"

He nodded. "Much."

"You are _not_ getting out of bed until Wynne or one of the other healers says its all right!"

"I need to be up and doing, Anora."

"You _need_ to _heal! _Did you not just hear me tell you about all of those broken bones? Yes, they're set and mending, but they're not fully mended yet. If people absolutely need to see the Crown Prince, then _they _can come to _you_. One at a time. For a _short_ time."

A mischievous, boyish grin stole over his face. "Yes, Your Majesty. Whatever you say, Your Majesty. You do know that this kind of behavior is what Zev calls being masterful, don't you? He's right-it _is_ kind of hot."

The sight of that grin had warmed her down to her toes. Anora found herself blushing. "You stop that!"

"_Yes_, Your Majesty!"

* * *

><p>Wynne came to make her customary dawn check on Corin before Erlina got back, and froze for a moment. "Oh, Maker be praised!" she declared, and hurried to the bedside. "When did this happen?"<p>

"About half an hour ago," Anora said.

"Hello, Wynne. You look tired. Have I been giving you a difficult time?"

"No more than usual." Her tone was acerbic, but her eyes were soft as she ran a hand lightly over the Crown Prince's body. "You need to take it easy for a while, Corin. Has Anora explained about your injuries?"

"She did."

"No bumping about for a while. No riding. Certainly no sparring, probably for a month at least."

"Great. I'll lose all my tone."

"You'll be _alive_. And _not_ bed-ridden for life, which is what happens to most people who break their backs in two places."

"You've got a point there," he conceded.

Erlina came back in with a breakfast tray just then, followed by a kitchen maid with the tea things. The girl's eyes grew wide when she saw the Prince and she nearly tipped the tray over. Anora caught it, noting that she was the same girl who had ogled Corin back before the battle.

"That will be all," she said coolly, and the young woman curtseyed to her and left.

"The cat's out of the bag now," Corin noted. "The whole palace will know I'm awake in about ten minutes." He eye the tray hungrily. There was porridge, a couple of pieces of toast and a bowl of applesauce. Wynne stopped Erlina from bringing it over.

"Corin, you've not eaten in almost five days! If you try eating that, you'll just throw it back up. Let me get you some broth to start with."

"Wynne, I don't want any _broth_," the Hero of Ferelden said in a tone of put-upon patience. "I've been brothed to death of late, I suspect. I'm _not _going to throw up-I'm a Grey Warden and I need _food_! And if I don't get it, and soon, I'm going to start killing and devouring my subjects. Is that any way for a Crown Prince to act?" He gestured imperiously to Erlina, who gave Wynne a somewhat superior look and brought the tray over, settling it into his lap.

Wynne sniffed. "You always were the most _wretched _patient!" She went to the desk and brought a wastebasket back over to the side of the bed. "There! I warned you-I'm not cleaning it up. Enjoy your breakfast while you can. I'll be back later to check in on you."

* * *

><p>The wastebasket proved to be unnecessary. Corin's hands were shaky, so he started with toast and tea; then, when they were steadier, worked his way through the bowl of porridge, then the applesauce. The food made a visible change in him that was astounding to Anora-he looked much brighter, more aware as soon as he was done eating.<p>

"Do you need any more?" she asked.

"Probably, in about an hour," he admitted. "We'll let this settle first, just in case Wynne is right." Erlina removed the tray and he patted the bed beside him. "Come up here." While he'd been eating, Erlina had brought Anora a gown and dressed her for the day, but she obligingly kicked off her shoes and clambered up beside him once more without sparing a thought for any wrinkles that might occur. Her betrothed slipped an arm about her shoulders as she settled against him.

"I haven't asked," Corin said, his brow furrowed. "Are _you_ all right?"

"Yes, besides a dismaying propensity to burst into tears for no reason at all. _Much _better now that you're awake. Wynne is keeping an eye on me."

"Not too tired?"

"Not yet, but she says that will come soon."

"You could always take your afternoon naps with _me_."

Anora thought that sounded like an excellent idea.

* * *

><p>Fergus and Eleanor showed up a few minutes later, having been informed by Wynne that Corin was awake. There was a mass embrace, some laughing and a few tears on Eleanor's part. Anora watched the family union with enjoyment and tried not to feel a pang at the thought that she had no family of her own any more.<p>

Then Eleanor's arm reached out and drew her in to join them and she realized that she did indeed have a family. A _new_ family.

* * *

><p>"Maker! You're giving me grey hairs, Pup!" Fergus declared, when they'd all broken apart. He was perched on one side of the bed, while Eleanor hovered over the other. Anora was back beside Corin on the bed.<p>

"Am not!" Corin protested. "You got your first grey hair when you were twenty! I remember you plucking it out and complaining about it to me. You said Oriana would have no use for you."

Fergus smiled a little, seemingly unharmed by the mention of his late wife. "But _you_ are directly responsible for all of _these_," he said, stroking fingers over the silver shadows that were beginning to show at his temples.

"No, that's just because you're decrepit and _old_. Own it."

"Not so old I can't pummel you!"

"You can't. Wynne won't let you. I'm fragile. And royal." Corin lifted his arms over his head a bit cautiously, stretched and preened. "You may not lay hands upon the Royal Personage."

"A mother's dispensation to _spank_ is eternal and unconditional, Corin," Eleanor noted, her brow lifted meaningfully.

At his patently fake look of alarm, they all laughed and embraced again.

* * *

><p>Alistair could hear the laughter through the door as he approached, and his heart leapt hopefully. It had been so discouraging to check in on Corin every morning before going out to the city to and sit by him for a while every evening, watching that lax face that held nothing of the animation and intelligence it possessed when awake. He was beginning to wonder if Cauthrien hadn't been correct, if Corin's body was simply an empty husk lingering for a time.<p>

He knocked and heard Fergus Cousland's voice. "Who is it?"

"Alistair."

"Oh! By all means, come on in!"

He pushed the door open and stepped inside to what was obviously a family reunion, with Fergus and Eleanor at Corin's bedside and the Queen-_on the bed_? With her shoes kicked off? And snuggling next to a very _awake_, laughing Corin?

And when his Warden brother's eyes met his, Alistair knew that it was no use, that he couldn't be angry. Because he remembered how he had felt, seeing Corin go for that final blow, the futility and rage because he couldn't get there in time. The horrible, mind-numbing, night-dark sorrow afterwards, the knowledge that once more he had lost yet another person he cared about, a person he cared about even more than he had Duncan. The hope he'd felt when he'd realized that Corin was still alive and the creeping fear and despair of the last couple of days, when Alistair had thought that he might only be alive as some sort of dreadful, empty, soulless body.

There was plenty of soul in Corin's eyes now. And what might have been trepidation, which was something of a new look for him. He patted Anora's upper arm gently.

"Anora, Mother, Fergus. Could you give us a few minutes? Grey Warden business. Please see that _no one_ disturbs us."

"Of course. I need to get some breakfast before the morning meeting in any event," Anora said, as Fergus offered her a courteous hand up. She gave Corin a gentle kiss on the lips when she was back on her feet.

"You could have the meetings in here," Corin offered, smiling warmly in response.

"Perhaps tomorrow, but not today. Today you rest. I don't think anyone will begrudge you a day of rest. We'll see how you feel tomorrow." Anora looked about the room. "Although I must say, the limited space suggests an excuse for excluding some of the more troublesome elements."

"Anora!" Fergus chided, but he was grinning. The Queen and the Teyrn exchanged meaningful looks.

Eleanor bent to kiss her son's cheek in her turn. "I'll be back when you're done, if you like," she said.

"Mother, I can't get enough of your company."

"Pup," Fergus said, with a squeeze of Corin's forearm.

"Geezer," Corin replied solemnly, before grinning and squeezing Fergus' arm in return.

The Couslands and the Queen departed, closing the door behind them. Corin's levity left with them. He looked at Alistair, his hands fidgeting with the edge of the blanket and yes, that was indeed trepidation in his eyes.

"I'll wager you're wondering why I'm still here."

* * *

><p>Alistair moved on into the room and pulled up the chair by the bedside.<p>

"Not particularly. Morrigan and I had a talk before she left. She told me about the ritual. She said she thought you'd done it to save me more than her."

Corin relaxed slightly, settling back against his pillows. "No, honestly, it was to save her, to give her an ally against Flemeth. I told her that we Wardens knew our duty. But I'll admit that the fact that it might save you and Cauthrien-and Riordan, seeing as we did it at Redcliffe- was another point in favor of her plan."

"You really did love her, didn't you?"

"Still do. Always will."

"Well, it was definitely reciprocated. You should have seen her, cursing at you and throwing healing spells left and right."

"Did she…say anything to you? To tell me?" The question was very quiet.

"She said that you already knew everything. Corin, it was scary. I _know_ mages. They can't just throw healing spell after healing spell without pause. But that was what she was doing. For as long as she has that baby inside her, she's going to be something to reckon with. Maybe she'll go right off and hunt Flemeth."

"I don't think she was entirely sure of what would happen, but everything she told me indicated she was going to raise the child up to adulthood if possible before pursuing her mother."

"You took a dreadful chance, you know," Alistair said, frowning. "I hope this doesn't bite us on the ass someday. Cauthrien mentioned the possibility of an extra Blight. I should also warn you that you've fallen considerably in her estimation."

The Prince snorted. "My heart's broken. Look, I _know_ it was a chance! I took a lot of those in the last year. If it goes badly, I'll deal with it personally. But it's just as likely to be a good thing. And definitely _educational _for the old god."

Alistair had no idea where _that _had come from, but he had to concede that Corin played the odds very well as a rule. He soldiered on. "Weisshaupt is going to be asking questions."

Corin scowled. "Let them ask! They've got _no_ _right at all_ to question _what_ we did, or _how _we did it! _They left us here to die, _a whole country of innocent people! The only Wardens who held to their vows in this Blight were Riordan, the three of us, and Duncan and the Wardens who died at Ostagar."

Alistair could hardly disagree with that.

"Speaking of which…as far as I'm concerned, you're Warden-Commander of Ferelden. I'm out of it now. I'll do everything in my power as king to see that you get the help you need to re-build the Order, but you're in charge, Alistair."

"Understood," the newly-minted Warden-Commander said, perhaps a bit more briskly than he'd intended, but Corin's dislike of the Order had always affected him that way.

Corin heard the briskness and knew what lay beneath it. He grimaced and gestured apologetically. "About Order things that are no longer really my business…Did we get any Archdemon blood?"

"The morning after the battle, Wynne said the blood was too stale and no longer had any magical virtue. Something about sun-changes."

"_Damn_," Corin breathed softly. "That's a blow. Do you suppose Weisshaupt has enough to last until the next Blight?"

"I don't know, and I don't care," Alistair said. At Corin's look of surprise, he grinned. "Because Wynne, Cauthrien, Pooka and I went the night before when it _was_ still fresh enough and preserved two chests full."

"That must have been a slog, after killing the Archdemon and all the marching we did that day," the Prince said sympathetically. Then his face lit up, and that glorious Cousland smile manifested itself. "But that is so _wonderful_! What are you going to do with it? Are you even going to let Weisshaupt know that you _have_ it?"

"_That_ is a very interesting question. After all, you and I were very junior Wardens. We'd not been told all of the things we needed to know by a long shot. We don't even know how to do a Joining potion, for Maker's sake. How would _we_ know what to do with the Archdemon's blood?"

Corin chuckled appreciatively. "There is that. And Riordan was the only one who knew that Ferelden's cache of Archdemon blood had been destroyed. He's dead now. So you could even continue making Wardens for a little while before anyone suspected you had it."

"How long a while depends on how much Ferelden was issued, and I'm not sure about that. Again, Riordan and of course Duncan were the only ones who would have known. But I _am_ inclined to let Weisshaupt stew in their own juices for a bit." At the Prince's surprised look, Alistair said, "I think Loghain was mostly gone in the head, but I also think he was right about one thing. I suspect the Wardens might have been indulging in politics. Let's face it-whether Loghain had a price on their heads or not, it was still their job to fight the Blight. You and I managed to travel one end of Ferelden to the other for a year and not get caught until the very end, and that was because we walked into the trap knowingly. If more of them had really wanted to come in, they could have." He sighed, stretched and scratched his head.

"We know the Wardens are pretty tight with the Orlesians. There could very well have been a deal, to let them have Ferelden in return for substantial material aid to the Order. It goes against everything I was taught the Order stands for, but we know the First Warden plays politics in the Anderfels. Why not Orlais as well?"

"I think it was more in the way of making an example of us," Corin said thoughtfully, "though I don't doubt you could be right about the Orlesian thing. But consider. Loghain had put a price on Warden heads, and let's face it, this isn't the first time Ferelden had been less than hospitable to the Wardens. Maybe they wanted an object lesson for the rest of Thedas-if you thwart and deny the Wardens their rights, then your country is on its own if a Blight rises within it."

"That's more than cold."

"Yes, it is. And not particularly admirable. But, as one virtuous Warden to the other-what are you and Cauthrien doing right now? Seen any more darkspawn?"

"Strangely enough, no. And I sort of wish we could run into at least a few."

"Why would you wish for that?"

"So we could get some darkspawn blood as well, for the Joining. Not that we can make the potion itself. I went to look through the Warden cache. By some miracle the warehouse was spared the fire, but the formula wasn't there. And Wynne says that the mage who made your potion died at Ostagar. She doesn't know the formula."

"I'd be surprised if you needed a mage to make the potion itself," Corin said. "Just to preserve the darkspawn blood. And you might not even need them to do that if you're doing the ritual quickly."

"What makes you say that?"

"Duncan told me on the way down to Ostagar that there aren't many Warden mages. Something so crucial to the Order's survival wouldn't be dependent on them. In fact, I'm wondering about the whole Korcari business in general. It's not like we didn't have darkspawn a lot closer to the camp Duncan could have bled. I think that was more about the treaties and shaking us down, getting us to work together."

Intrigued, Alistair said, "That's possible, now that I think on it. Though Duncan himself took me out to hunt my blood, so it could be a tradition. That's when I fought my first darkspawn. Maybe one of those things you do if you get the chance? Sort of a rite of passage?"

Corin nodded, and Alistair continued. "There have been a lot of wounded we've lost to the Taint. Some of them would have made good Wardens." He sighed and gave his former Warden brother a side-long look. "I know how you feel about recruitment, but even you've got to admit-it's three decades longer than they'd have otherwise."

"It's not recruitment I object so much to, particularly under the circumstances you described, but certain sorts of conscription." Corin's brow furrowed in thought for a moment. "There's always Avernus. He's bound to know how to make it, since he's researching ways to make it better."

Alistair stared at him for a moment, then slapped his head. "Of course! Maker, but I'm an _idiot_! I've been so focused on clearing Denerim of Taint that never occurred to me!"

"You have had a few things on your mind, Alistair. And worries as well, myself being among them. But Soldier's Peak might be a good place to stash the Archdemon blood. At the very least you might take a little there, for Avernus to research with. It's bound to help."

"I try not to think about Avernus' research any more than I have to. I was surprised when you let him live."

"If he can come up with an improved Joining potion, and I suspect that he's the only person on Thedas who could, it might _barely_ justify the lives he's taken. His death would only have avenged them. Wouldn't you like to be able to Join Wardens knowing that they had a better chance of survival, that they could live out their normal life-span?"

"That's a lovely dream, Corin."

"So are most things that improve the lot of man, until hard work makes them reality." The energy that had animated the Prince until that point flowed out of him very suddenly and he sagged back into his pillows.

"Are you all right?" Alistair asked, a cold spike of fear striking though him.

"I'm fine. Just tired of a sudden," Corin responded irritably. "You'd think I'd have had enough of sleep, wouldn't you?"

"I should let you rest. I need to get back to work."

"Forget about cleansing Denerim for now. This is more important. You and Cauthrien head on up there. Take whatever you need for the journey. Ask Fergus or Anora if anyone gives you any problems, not that I think they will. Pook?" The mabari rose up from behind the bed and set his forefeet on the counterpane. Alistair hadn't even noticed he was there. "You've been cooped up here for days. Why don't you go with Alistair and Cauthrien on up to the Peak? It would be good for you to get out and get some fresh air."

The war dog whined. Corin ruffled his ears. "I'll be all right, Pook, but I'm going to be in bed for a few more days. You need the exercise." Pooka leaned up and licked his master's face, then slid down off the bed and paced around to Alistair's side, shoving his head beneath the Warden's hand.

"Thanks, Corin. I'll take good care of him."

"I know you will. Be safe. Maybe you'll be lucky and find a few 'spawn on your way."

"That would be good, odd though it sounds to say that. Figures that when you _want _to find them they aren't around, the perverse creatures." Seeing the shadows of weariness and worry on the Crown Prince's face, Alistair suddenly knew what needed to be said.

"Corin." The brother he'd always wished he had looked up. "If Morrigan's demon baby rears up one day, screams 'Mwhahahaha!', spoils all the cheese and seeks to cover the world in darkness, then I'm going to be the first to say 'I told you so!'. But until that happens, and maybe even if it does, I'm not sorry you're still here."

The Cousland smile blossomed again, more slowly and wearily than before. "Thank you, brother."

The Warden-Commander of Ferelden rose to go, then remembered that there were still two things to do. First he moved to the bed to lean over and hug Corin. The warmth of that embrace, weak though it was, was infinitely better than laying a corpse out on a pyre, Alistair decided. Straightening, he rummaged in his belt pouch and pulled out the second thing.

"I almost forgot. When Morrigan turned into a hawk to leave, she dropped something. I thought you might like to have it, if you… Well, anyway, I'm glad to have the chance to give it to you."

Corin had to make a visible effort to master himself before taking the feather, another example of his depleted condition. "Thank you, Alistair. That's very kind of you. You will come see me when you get back, won't you? I'd like to know how things went, if you don't mind."

"Of course I will. Come on, Pook."

Alistair looked back once before going out the door. Corin's expression was indecipherable as he stroked the hawk's feather gently between his fingers.

* * *

><p>"You need to go back to sleep, from the look of things," Eleanor Cousland noted, when she returned. Her son, who seemed very subdued, nodded. "I will, in a bit. I think I'll eat again before I do. Mother, do you think you could find something for me?"<p>

"Of course, dear, what do you need?"

His hands rose and indicated a space about eight inches across between them. "A little box. About this big. Do we have anything like that?"

"I'll find out." Eleanor went back to the Cousland quarters to search. Since something had immediately leapt to mind when he made the request, it didn't take long. When she returned, it was with a small wooden box in the dimensions he'd requested, carved with a pattern of twining leaves that covered its surface. Birds peeped out from among the branches.

"Will this do?"

Corin took up the box, running his fingers admiringly over the design. "Actually, it's more than perfect. Where did you find it?"

"Oh, it's something your father gave me a necklace from Rivain in a long time ago. The necklace went in with the rest of my jewelry in my big jewelry chest at Highever, so it's long gone. But I thought the box was pretty, so I kept it."

"Are you sure you don't mind if I use it? I mean, as in giving it to me permanently?"

"I'm certain." She watched curiously as he opened the box and laid what looked to be a hawk's feather in it, then drew an ancient-looking ring off of his finger and set that inside as well. When the lid was closed, he handed the box to her, his expression oddly blank and diffident, as if his emotions had been shut away in the box with the other relics.

"Would you put that on the top shelf of my wardrobe for now, please? Well in the back, if you like. I shan't be needing it any time soon."


	42. Chapter 42

I'm doing NaNoWriMo this month, so I don't know if you'll being seeing updates to my stories until December or not. You might see them sooner if I give up on my original fiction and write fanfiction to get my 50,000 words in!

Thanks to acedude, 17986, mille libri, none, FireKing500, Mike 3207 (x 2!), The-Demon-of-Soul-Society, Tsu Doh Nimh, lazyguy90, SuperGravyMan, Suilven, spectre4hire, LiveWithHonour, Jordan Mathias, karthik 9, Ronin Kenshin, Genericrandom, and Liso66 for last chapter's lovely reviews. A few stormclouds and sprinkles in this one.

* * *

><p>"We need to talk," Anora's betrothed told her. She'd come back to Corin's room after the meetings to find him awake and engaged in finishing off the remains of a sizeable meal, with no wastebasket in evidence.<p>

"Very well. Were you wanting to know how the meeting went?"

"Yes, in a bit, if you don't mind. This is something else. Could you help me with this, please? I'm done for now." He indicated the tray, which Anora took and set on the bedside table. Her betrothed's expression was grim. "Please, have a seat." Anora seated herself in the comfortable wing-back chair that had been set at his bedside for the folk keeping vigil and looked at him quizzically.

"Are you feeling well, Corin? You're not in pain, are you?"

He shook his head. "Nothing worth speaking of. I'm fine. But you need to know. That dispensation you gave me, before I left for Redcliffe? I used it."

"I know about that already." It was oddly satisfying to see the surprise steal over his face, for Anora knew that would not happen often.

"You do?"

"Yes. Morrigan told me, when she was back at the camp between stints as messenger."

Corin frowned. "I hope that she didn't…gloat or anything. I do apologize if that was the case." The frown turned to disgruntlement. "Though I must say, she was damned _chatty _of a sudden, between you and Alistair."

"Alistair?"

"Yes, she spoke to him before she flew off. Told him what I'm going to tell you now. Unless she told you that already… What _did_ she tell you, by the way?" His awkward discomfort hearkened back to her first truly successful interview with him, after she had witnessed the encounter with the Wilder witch. Anora smiled coolly.

"Morrigan was actually very civil. She said that she'd slept with you at Redcliffe because she wanted to one last time. She also said that there was another reason, which you might chose to impart to me later. I'm assuming that reason is what has you so flustered now?"

"I'm not-" Corin started to protest, then relented. "Yes, that's the reason." He reached over, took up the cup of tea from his tray and sipped it, his face troubled.

"You have to understand, Anora, I didn't do it casually. She really had to work to get it to happen. I do take my oaths seriously and my promises to you in particular."

"So she said."

"The thing that I need to tell you is that I didn't just sleep with her. I participated in a magical ritual with her, to give her a child."

While Anora had suspected that might be the other reason, the confirmation was nonetheless a heavy blow. She closed her eyes for a moment to collect herself, then said with the slightest chill in her voice, "So much for your assertion early on that there were no little Corins or Morrigans on the way."

"There _weren't_ at the time!"

"Corin. Do you honestly think it wise to be breeding bastard children when your own claim to the throne is hardly iron-clad, given Alistair's rival claim?"

Corin's voice grew even chillier in his turn. "Alistair is not now, nor will he ever be in the future, a threat to our rule. I will _not_ countenance any discussion of that possibility!"

Anora's temper flared. "So _good_ to know what you will or will not countenance! I'll say this for Cailan-he cuckolded me up one side and down the other, but he never did _this_! I take it your leman wished for a memento of your time together?" Her voice sounded waspish even to her own ears.

But while Corin's color was high and his lips thin, his voice was level when he said, "No. Well, it might have been partly that, but there was more. She wanted a Warden's child, a child bearing the Taint."

Anora's eyes grew wide, and her hand went instinctively to her belly. "Warden's children are Tainted? Why did you not tell me this _before _we slept together?"

The flush deepened on Corin's cheeks. "Because I didn't _know_! All I knew was what Alistair told me, which was all that he knew, that it was difficult for Wardens to have children. And we never discussed the matter with Riordan, being slightly _busy_ at the time with trying to _save_ all of Thedas!"

"But what does that mean? How will our child be affected?"

Setting the tea cup back on the tray, Corin rubbed his temple. "I don't know that either. But I'm thinking that it might not mean anything much. If they turned into darkspawn or something, I doubt the child would be of any use to Morrigan or her mother. And surely Duncan would have told Alistair, 'Whatever you do, _don't_ have children!' I'd also like to think, pardon me for saying this, that because there were already rumors about the lack of an heir, Duncan would not have conscripted Alistair if he knew it meant he wouldn't be able to have viable children, at least in the short term."

While that all made a certain amount of sense, Anora's tone was still tart when she said, "Pardon _me _when I say that I'm not much impressed with some of Duncan's decisions."

"That makes two of us," came Corin's rejoinder, the corners of his mouth ghosting upwards for just a moment before he sobered again.

"Anora, please let me finish this. The reason that Morrigan wanted to be carrying a baby with the Taint was so that she could be on hand when the Archdemon was slain. More Warden secrets here. The last Warden secret, which Riordan didn't tell us until after we got notice that the horde was coming this way. The reason Wardens can slay the Archdemon is because of the Taint within us. When a normal person kills an Archdemon, its soul uses the Taint as a lifeline as it were, to draw its soul into the nearest darkspawn, which is a soulless creature. It can inhabit that body, or any body in the horde, so it is effectively immortal. If a Grey Warden kills it, then it is drawn by the Taint within the Warden into the Warden's body, which _does_ have a soul. Riordan said that both of the souls are destroyed, though I've received…other opinions upon that particular matter. But the end result is that the Archdemon is dead. And so is the Warden who killed it."

Anora gave him a disbelieving stare. "But _you _killed the Archdemon!"

"Yes. I did. And I'm the first Warden in history to survive doing so. Morrigan's ritual, which had been given to her by her mother Flemeth, was to insure that the Archdemon's soul would be drawn into her very new unborn child rather than into the Warden. She thinks Flemeth wanted the child as the ultimate host-body, a host with god-like powers. Flemeth was in the habit of possessing her daughters."

"So I've been told."

"Really? _Very_ chatty indeed! Morrigan wanted the babe as an ally. She is sure that her mother will be back."

"But what will the child _be_?"

"That is unknown. The most likely answer is an extremely powerful mage, perhaps the most powerful mage ever born. But it might also just be a regular person."

"And you have no idea which way things are going to go."

"No. I rather doubt Morrigan does either. It could end by being very bad or very good, or anywhere in between." His hand rose to his throat and the Ashes pouch. "But it is _my _responsibility and all I can promise is that if my decision turns out badly, I will do whatever I must to correct the situation personally."

"How very noble of you," Anora sniffed. "So. Did you do this to help her, or to save yourself and the other Wardens?"

"Mostly to help her, though the other thing did factor in," Corin admitted with a slight shrug. "I was thinking of Alistair primarily. I was afraid that he'd knock me on the head and go for the Archdemon himself. But it didn't work out that way. The darkspawn were breaking through onto the roof and there was no time left. The Archdemon was right in front of me, Alistair and Cauthrien weren't close enough and I _had_ promised…" His voice trailed off, his eyes darkened and his head bowed for a moment. Then it lifted, and he looked Anora straight in the eye.

"I know that this hurts you. I am sorry for that. But I thought it best to be honest. You might not believe me, but it is over now. She is gone."

"And if she decides to show up a year or two from now with Baby God in tow?"

"She won't."

"And you're certain of this?"

"I know her," Corin said simply. "And besides, it's immaterial. I made my choice, and my oath. I am _yours_ now, and I am _not_ Cailan. The dispensation was very kind of you, but I don't expect such things in the future. I do intend to try to make you happy, Anora."

Despite the anger and irritation, his words filled her with warmth. Part of her wanted to fling herself onto the bed and into his arms, but pride and the fact that the hurt ran a bit too deep at present would not permit it.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Corin," she said in a calm voice that impressed even herself, "But I need to think about this."

"I understand." His voice was subdued. Then he seemed to think of something and brightened a little.

"About the Tainted child thing. Alistair was going to go up to Soldier's Peak to talk to Avernus about some Warden business. If he hasn't already left yet, you might get him to ask. Avernus will most likely know if anyone does."

"Who in the Maker's name is Avernus?"

"He was Sophia Dryden's Warden mage."

"That's…impossible!"

"Not necessarily, if you're a blood mage and demonologist." Corin smiled a little at her appalled expression. "Though even he admits he can't hold on much longer. If he weren't so decrepit, I'd have hauled him down to Denerim for the battle-he's very formidable magically."

"He doesn't sound like a very nice person."

"Oh, he's not. A total rotter, in fact. Used some of his fellow Wardens for research on ways to improve Warden gifts."

"And you let him _live_?"

"I had a rare bout of Grey Warden pragmatism. They call them _Grey_ Wardens for a reason, you know. Pretty much anything goes to stop the Blight-unless, of course, it's in _Ferelden_." Her betrothed grimaced. "The way I figured it, he only had a few months left and he doesn't have any more test subjects in any event. They've been dead for well over a century. If I killed him, then any insight he'd gained at the cost of those lives would be lost. So I informed him he'd be doing his last research ethically and he agreed. The Maker and Andraste will be judging him soon enough-and much more harshly than I ever could."

"What sort of improvements are we talking about here?"

"Avernus intimated that just being able to sense the darkspawn was only the least of the things we should be able to do. Of course, it might be that acquiring those other powers would mean you'd be Called more quickly."

Realization dawned on Anora then. "Or he might be able to find some way to cure the Wardens. That is what you were hoping, wasn't it?"

Corin nodded. "That was a strong motivation, I must admit. But I was also interested in the enhanced abilities. If it does turn out that the Calling is inevitable, then the more shinies we get for enduring it, the better. And if Wardens were more powerful, we might be able to take the fight to the darkspawn in their lairs, to stop the last two Blights before they ever get started. That possibility is certainly worth a few more months of life for a mage who has permanently mislaid his ethical compass."

"And he will know about Warden children?"

"I suspect that he knows more about the Taint and its effects at this point than any other Warden in Thedas."

"Very well then. I will see if Alistair can be found." She got to her feet. Corin looked up at her expectantly, eyebrow cocked slightly, as if he perhaps expected some sort of farewell, but she merely nodded. "I'll check in on you later."

The disappointment on his face was almost indiscernible, but she did catch it. He nodded in return, and settled back against his pillows. "I'll certainly be here."

* * *

><p>"What can I do for you, Your Majesty?" Alistair asked politely. He was out of armor and washed and changed into one of the Disreputable Tunics when he'd appeared at Anora's door in response to her summons, Pooka at his side.<p>

"Do sit down, Alistair. Thank you for coming. I hope that I didn't interrupt anything important?"

"Not at all. I'm going out of town for a few days tomorrow. I'd hoped to get away today, but that didn't happen-too many arrangements to be made."

"Corin said that you were going to Soldier's Peak. That is what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Soldier's Peak? Really? Why?"

"He…told me about Morrigan's baby, what she said about Warden children being Tainted. I need to know _exactly_ what that means."

His brow creased in sympathy. "I would just imagine that you do, since you're planning to have children! _I'd_ like to know for that matter, since the two of you seem determined to marry me off."

For some reason, Anora found herself smiling. "You've got a little time yet, Alistair. We're rather busy at present."

"Praise the Maker for that!" Erlina came in just then with a tea tray and an additional plate of cheese slices. Alistair's face lit up.

"_Thank you_! I'm starved and what with the rationing…" He immediately took a couple of slices and devoured them with swift, neat bites, the look on his face indicating that he was mulling something over. Swallowing, he gave Anora a cautious look and said, "You said Corin told you about the ritual. Are you angry with him?"

She studied him for a moment. Her usual reticence about discussing personal matters was being affected by her newly tumultuous emotions. She felt an uncharacteristic desire to unburden herself to someone, and Alistair was not only the next best thing to Corin's brother, he was also technically _her_ brother-in-law and her last connection to Cailan. "Yes," Anora admitted at last. "Though I don't know that I truly have cause to be. I gave him permission to sleep with Morrigan after all, and that might very well have resulted in a child, even without the ritual."

"That's true enough."

"I just…I suppose that I am worried. Ours is a political marriage. I went into it knowing that he loved her, and he told me that she was going to leave when the Blight was ended. The danger of this god-child aside, I can't help but wonder what would happen if Morrigan were to come back. Cailan was never in love with any of the girls he slept with."

"_Morrigan_? Come back _here_? You don't need to worry about that. It's not going to happen."

"You seem very sure of that."

"Because I have the misfortune to _know_ her pretty well!" Alistair took up another piece of cheese, waving it gently about as he gesticulated. "You know how her tent was right on the edge of camp, when we were camped outside of Denerim?" Anora nodded. "Well, she always pitched her tent well away from the rest of us while we were traveling too. Far enough away that the darkspawn could have pounced and dragged her off almost before we could do anything, not that I ever got _that_ lucky." He then gave Anora an abashed look. "Though I wouldn't wish being a broodmother on anyone, even Morrigan." Suddenly realizing that there was uneaten cheese in his grasp, Alistair devoured it before continuing.

"But the whole point of what I'm trying to say is-sorry I don't say it very well, but I'm not Corin-is that Morrigan doesn't like people. She _really_ doesn't like people. As in would-prefer-to-live-in-a-marsh-and-talk-to-wolves-all-day-instead-doesn't-like-people. As in Revered-Mother-bug-bites-the-heads-off-her-mates-doesn't like people. Now Corin? Corin likes people. Corin _needs_ people, if only so that he can have an audience for his cleverness." Anora smiled at that.

"_That's_ what really kept the two of them apart in the end. It wasn't him being a Warden, or her being an apostate. It wasn't even him being King. It was the fact that she hates people and can't stand to live with them, and he likes and needs people and couldn't stand to live without them. They were doomed from the start."

The absolute certainty with which someone who _wasn't_ in love with Morrigan spoke relieved Anora as Corin's similar avowal had not. She found herself, to her dismay, blinking back more of those cursed tears. Alistair, when he saw this, was party to a bit of dismay himself.

"Did I say something to upset you, Your Majesty?"

"Please, Alistair. Anora. No, it wasn't anything you said.. I'm just…I'm just having a baby and it makes things a bit…roiled at present."

The dismay vanished, to be replaced by a somewhat goofy grin. "_Really? _Congratulations! I'm _very_ happy for you both!"

"I rather imagine that you are," Anora remarked drily.

Alistair laughed, but then his expression became concerned. "Are you feeling all right?"

"The first thing everyone asks. I'm feeling just fine. I just can't seem to get a handle on my emotions at present. And Alistair-please don't mention this to anyone. The pregnancy is very new-only a mage could tell. Corin, Eleanor, Fergus, Erlina and now yourself are the only ones who know. I suppose I'm afraid of jinxing it if I speak too soon. Lots of pregnancies don't get past the first three months. I don't want to raise everyone's hopes, then disappoint them. We'll let people figure it out."

The new Warden-Commander leaned forward, elbows on knees, his expression earnest. "No one will hear about it from me! Look, it will take me about three days to get up there and another three days back. So call it a week. I _promise_ I'll talk to Avernus about this. In the meantime, I will say that Duncan never told me about anything being _wrong _with the children Wardens had after they joined, just that they didn't have them easily. But we'll get Avernus to confirm it and if he can't, then I'll write to Weisshaupt personally, all right?"

"All right. Thank you. That's a great weight off my mind."

He shrugged and smiled self-deprecatingly. "It's what I do. Spread the balm of relief throughout the populace. Along with single-handedly supporting the Fereldan cheese-making industry." At this reminder, another piece of cheese followed the others.

The light-hearted humor was much like Cailan's. Alistair was the sort of man Cailan might have been had he not been Ferelden's spoiled darling from birth, had he encountered some reversals to mold his character. Anora contemplated the alternative future, had Corin perished and she had had to marry this man instead and found it not as onerous as she had originally thought.

"Are the two of you _fighting_?" her former potential bridegroom asked after the cheese was consumed, another of those careful questions.

"Our usual amity and unity of purpose is somewhat lessened at present, that is true," she admitted. "But I expect that it will return in time."

"That's good to know. I think Corin needs you." At her skeptical look, he continued, his cheeks reddening slightly.

"Look, I'll admit it. I thought you were scary. I _still_ think you're scary." Her eyebrow lifted and he reddened further. "But every time I told Corin that, while he was courting you, that is, he only ever had nice things to say about you. I know that he likes you and that he respects you. And I think you may be the only person who can really keep up with his head games. Isn't that enough to start with?"

"More than enough and more than most such marriages get," Anora conceded.

"I hope _I'm_ half so lucky as the two of you."

"You will have a choice, Alistair. We won't just shove a girl at you. There are several candidates I can think of off the top of my head, and some of them are quite nice."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"It won't be. We won't let it be."

"Whew! That's a relief!" He finally took up his cup of tea and drank, looking thoughtful. "I'm wondering something," he said when he'd finished.

"What is that?"

"Did Corin tell you why he agreed to the ritual?"

"He said it was to give Morrigan her ally against Flemeth in part, and in part to save you. He was afraid you'd knock him on the head and kill the Archdemon yourself."

"I might very well have, if he'd been in arm's reach," Alistair admitted. "Which might be why he was careful to split us up into two parties and keep Cauthrien and myself well away from him."

"Was that how it happened? We've not spoken of it."

"Oh, yes. Two equal parties across from each other on the roof. Made sense-the Archdemon was jumping around from one part of the roof to the other, so it insured that one or the other group would be able to bring a ballista to bear on it. Conveniently, it also meant that Cauthrien or I would not be able to knock him on the head to keep him from making the kill. I know that Cauthrien was actively looking for an honorable death." He gestured with his cup.

"But that's not actually what I was thinking about. What I'm wondering about is why _Morrigan_ wanted to do the ritual."

"Didn't the child with god-like powers make sense to you?"

"Yeeesssss, more or less. But it was _Flemeth's _idea that she have the child in the first place. That's why Flemeth sent her with us. Morrigan may have been better off if she'd _not _done it. You know, harder to find? If Flemeth is alive like she says, then she'll come after the child for certain. It's inevitable. Without the child? She might have let Morrigan walk."

"What do you think? Since you have the misfortune of knowing her reasonably well."

"I think in the end, she did it to save Corin more than herself. The ritual is the only reason he's still alive-he'd have died otherwise."

"He did explain that part to me."

Alistair consumed yet another piece of cheese, giving it an appreciative look after the first bite.

"Lydes blue," Anora noted.

"This is _very _good. I'll have to find some more."

"You'd have to import it. Though I guess we know what to get you as a Satinalia gift now."

He grinned. "You're always safe with a basket of cheese for me. And it doesn't even have to be imported." His face got that thoughtful look again. "Maker, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I almost feel sorry for her."

"Morrigan?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because the only reason we all survived this last year was that we were there for each other. Not that she didn't get the mock on any time someone intimated that helping others was a good thing. But I have to think that on some level she got used to being around us, to being part of a group relying on us and having people rely on her. And now she's going to be alone again, most likely out in the Wilds somewhere, fending for herself while she's pregnant, having the baby by herself, having to take care of it without any help once it gets here. That's got to be a hard road. It seems rather sad."

Anora remembered this young man's sincere condolences. Once again, a rather surprisingly insightful empathy had manifested itself. It was beginning to be apparent to her exactly what Corin saw in Alistair.

"Alistair, I was about to go down to dinner," she said aloud. "I'm assuming that as a Warden you'd be up for that, despite the cheese plate?" He nodded enthusiastically. "Then why don't you escort me down?"

* * *

><p>She stopped in after dinner to check on Corin, only to find him sound asleep, Eleanor reading a book at his bedside.<p>

"Are you staying here tonight, Anora?" she inquired. Anora shook her head.

"I think I'll sleep in my room tonight." The Teyrna's brow lifted, but she did not comment.

"Very well then. I think I'll seek my own rest in a little while. I feel better about Corin now. It probably isn't really necessary that he be watched-it just makes _me _feel better at present."

"That's certainly understandable."

Seeming to sense something in her tone, Eleanor gave Anora a searching look, then decided to let things alone.

"Good night, Anora."

"Good night, Eleanor."

The Teyrna departed and Anora was left with her oblivious betrothed. Given what he had told her about Warden sleep habits, she wondered if this very deep slumber was because there were no darkspawn within any sensing distance, or because of the debilitation from his injuries, or for both reasons. Yet despite the depth of the slumber, the absent look that had been present while they waited for Corin to wake up was gone, and that was reassuring . He might be asleep, but he was very obviously home.

Further reassurance came when she noticed his hands laying lax upon the counterpane. The ancient silverite ring given him by the wilder witch was no longer on his left hand, taking the finger that by right should be occupied by her betrothal ring. Either the witch had taken it back or he had surrendered it himself. Inquiring about the circumstances was probably not a good idea-Anora was already beginning to feel like a jealous shrew of an older wife as it was.

And as she had told Alistair, there really was no reason to be angry with Corin. She had given him permission to sleep with Morrigan and to be offended that he had used it was hypocrisy of the highest order, made her seem like one of those manipulating women she'd never cared for. The ones who for some reason always seemed to attract decent, upstanding men and then do everything possible to make their lives a living hell. Anora had seen plenty of that sort of behavior at court.

Her problem seemed to be jealousy, plain and simple. Corin had risked Thedas itself to do the ritual to aid Morrigan. She could not help but wonder if he would go to similar lengths for her. She _wanted_ him to go to similar lengths for her, wanted him to love her as _she_ loved _him_…

Anora froze, stunned by the revelation. _When did __**that **__happen? _came her brain's plaintive plea, just one of many such occurrences since she'd first met the Cousland Warden.

She had grown up knowing that glorious, golden Cailan would always be hers. Never the warmest, most sociable personality, she'd nonetheless felt _some _satisfaction knowing that the other noble maidens were envious of her. And there had been a brief time very early on after the wedding, when even she had believed in the fairy tale.

Then reality had reared its ugly head, the failures on her part and indiscretions on his had begun and she'd ended by being more Cailan's chancellor than his wife. She didn't want that to happen again. After all, she'd _chosen_ Corin this time.

But she was a realist and for good or ill, there was no going back. She was betrothed to the man and carrying his child to boot. There had been that one, infinitesimal moment at the Landsmeet when she could have played upon the sympathy for her grief, staked her claim, betrayed Corin and taken the crown for herself, and she had let it pass by. Such a moment would not come again. The man who had already done so much for Ferelden, who had put down the civil war and raised the armies needed to fight the darkspawn, had clinched everything by slaying the Archdemon. Ferelden wanted Corin Cousland as its Hero King, and she was just a bonus. Arguably not even that big a bonus, given that she was Loghain's daughter.

Ultimately, whatever power she had in the new regime would depend, at least in part, upon what Corin allowed her to have, for he'd built up such a fund of good will that any attempt to undermine him would not be well received. What it all came down to in the end was a simple question-how much did she trust Corin?

His earlier words came back to her then, and they were somewhat reassuring.

"_I made my choice, and my oath. I am __**yours**__ now, and I am __**not **__Cailan. The dispensation was very kind of you, but I don't expect such things in the future. I do intend to try to make you happy, Anora."_

He had been proven a man of his word and he'd been honest even when it cast him in a less than favorable light. Perhaps it would be enough, in the end.

She left Corin without a kiss or caress, telling herself it was because he might awaken and he slept so well so rarely. But she knew it was because of her own reservations.

"_I know that he likes you and that he respects you. And I think you may be the only person who can really understand his head games. Isn't that enough to start with?" _Alistair had asked. It would have to be.

But _oh_, how she had wanted the fairy tale to be true this time!


	43. Chapter 43

Oh well, so much for the original fiction thing! I found that I couldn't stand to leave Anora and Corin in limbo for a month. Thanks to xseikax, LivewithHonour, Suilven, Tsu Doh Nimh, Rake1810 (there, you didn't have to wait a month after all!), spectre4hire, anon, Elizabeth Carter, none, blackholelord, SuperGravyMan, Mike3207, 17986, Ronin Kenshin, JadeOokami, Fireking500 and acedude for all the lovely reviews on the last chapter.

* * *

><p>Two months ago, if anyone had told Alistair that he would be talking to Queen Anora with perfect friendliness and be her preferred escort down to dinner as well, he would have thought them barking mad. But as it was, the meal was actually very pleasant, and thanks to her thoughtful cheese plate at tea, he'd gotten enough to eat. When he returned to his room in the Cousland suite, he was feeling quite relaxed and mellow.<p>

Noting that there was light coming from under the door, that mellow feeling transformed into a wary curiosity. He opened the door and found that the light was from the bedside lamp. Leliana was in his bed reading, and when she sat up at the sound of his entrance and the sheets fell away, revealing milky breasts and rosy nipples, it became apparent that she was reading _in the nude_.

Wary curiosity turned in a heartbeat to something else entirely.

* * *

><p>"We have not seen much of each other lately," Leliana noted matter-of-factly after their first passionate reunion was done. At Alistair's guilt-stricken look, she chuckled and leaned up to kiss his lips.<p>

"I did not mean it as chastisement, my friend. You've had a lot of Warden unpleasantness to deal with and I have been busy with the Grand Cleric and her Revered Mothers and Brother Genitivi. They are talking about sending an expedition to the Temple of the Sacred Ashes. Since I've actually been there, they had a lot of questions they wanted to ask."

"With all that is going on, can they afford to do that right now?"

"Can they afford _not_ to investigate the final resting place of Our Lady? 'Tis true that it will not happen until spring at this point. Snow is already closing the passes into the Frostbacks. But they are beginning to make the arrangements." The bard gave Alistair a searching look. "I think I would really like to be in that expedition, Alistair."

"I can't think of anyone who would be better suited to go, Leliana. It sounds like a marvelous opportunity for you."

"Then you are not upset?"

"No. Should I be?"

"I was worried that you might be, because of what we have shared together."

Seeing the sudden, shamed awareness on Alistair's face, Leliana laid a calming hand upon his cheek. "It is all right, my friend. This is how _I_ prefer it to be. We are boon companions who have come together and shared joy in a time of trial. I was simply worried that you might have deeper feelings."

"I should have had." The guilty look on his face intensified, and Leliana scowled.

"Why? Just because I was the first to sleep with you? There are many kinds of sex, Alistair, and the sex between dear friends is one of the better kinds. And I do not think you are the sort who would have enjoyed your first time being one of the girls at The Pearl." She rolled to straddle him and the feel of her damp crotch pressing against his caused Alistair to groan and begin to harden once more. "I am honored and happy to have been able to give that gift to you."

The bard leaned over until they were nose-to-nose, her expression tranquil once more. "Rumor has it that you are going to be a very important man, an arl most likely by the time things are done. You will need a _noble_ wife, not a bard who sounds Orlesian and was raised in Orlais. I can play the noble role, but it is not one of my favorite things. I am perfectly happy knowing that we have shared this time together and that your future wife will owe me a debt of thanks."

"I'll say!" Alistair declared, as belief began to sink in. His mood lightened a little as well. Reaching up to fondle one of the breasts that dangled like a ripe, tempting fruit before him, he locked eyes with Leliana.

"Are you sure you're all right with this, Leli? I would never want to hurt you."

She leaned further forward still, her arms resting upon his chest, his face cupped in her hands. "I am _not_ hurt, Alistair! We are friends and we will have fun together until our duties draw us apart. And if I _am _hurt, then it will be at _my_ instigation and under _my_ direction and in a way that I happen to greatly enjoy." She giggled at his sudden blush, rose up a little, lifted her hips and sheathed herself upon him.

"You have still got a _lot_ to learn, my friend! I wish your wife to be _eternally_ grateful to me!"

* * *

><p>Anora did not visit Corin the next morning. She told herself that it was because the Council was meeting early, but she knew better. She had lunch in her rooms, ostensibly because she only wanted to take half an hour before returning to business, but again, she knew better. Erlina gave her a side-long, penetrating look, but did not comment. The comments came when she dressed her mistress for dinner, Anora still not having stopped by the Prince's room.<p>

"Are you _trying _to give heem an excuse to seek out other company?" the maid declared as she brushed Anora's hair out. "You have been avoiding heem, Why? Did 'e do something to offend you?"

"Not exactly. We've just had a…difference of opinion about something."

"So now you _'ide_? What will that serve? You do not need me to tell you that you are the vulnerable party in this relationship. You need to be with heem, to keep an eye on heem, lest 'is eye start straying."

"That will be _enough_, Erlina! I will wear the blue gown tonight. See that it's ready."

* * *

><p>Going down to dinner was a bit of an ordeal. Emotional upheaval aside, physical weariness had washed over her just as she'd walked into the dining hall and once she was seated at the table, the scent of the cooked food was obscurely nauseating, even though she was ravenously hungry. Her back was aching a little as well, which at least was something she had in common with Corin, she thought wryly.<p>

She watched her lords and ladies with a decidedly dyspeptic air. Fergus, seated at her left hand, was undaunted; but then, he knew what was going on, at least as regarded the pregnancy, and he'd always had a bit of a death wish where she was concerned. He made an effort to involve her in conversation with determined good cheer. Eleanor did so as well, but more moderately, her green eyes concerned. Everyone else seemed well pleased not to draw the Queen's ire down upon them.

Dinner had just begun when Anora noticed Sten enter the room from behind the dais. He shot her an oddly disapproving look (though it was difficult to truly discern disapproval on his usually scowling countenance), before making his way to a seat that magically opened up for him. She was just wondering what she could have done to offend the Qunari, whom she'd not even seen for days, when a loud clanging shattered the quiet hum of the dining hall and caused her to start.

One of the footmen who'd been carrying a silver tray (fortunately empty of food), had dropped it to the floor in the process of kneeling there himself. His attention was on the door behind the dais, and as heads turned in that direction, there was a wave-like motion as the nobles of Ferelden, arguably the most truculent lot of nobles on the whole continent, rose to their feet, pushed back their chairs and one and all bent knee clear to the floor.

She stared in astonishment as Corin came around to the front of his throne, moving a bit stiffly but reasonably well, smiling, waving a congenial hand at the crowd. He was dressed in the buff breeches and white and gold doublet that were some of Cailan's unused clothes and looked passably hale, though he muttered a request for some cushions to another footman who had appeared at his side.

There was a degree of pleased satisfaction in his blue gaze as it swept the crowd before him, and his smile broadened further when someone down the table shouted, "Maker and Lady keep our Crown Prince, the _Hero of Ferelden_!" and the dining room erupted with the sound of cheering.

Cushions were somehow magically produced and placed in his throne. Corin seated himself gingerly, shifted around to find a comfortable posture and settled back against the them.

"Please, everyone, be seated and enjoy your dinner!" he commanded when he was seated and the nobles obediently complied. Though the cheering had subsided, the gossip about his appearance was a loud buzz in the room.

Under the cover of the noise, Anora hissed at him, "Are you _out of your mind_? You should be in _bed_!"

Still smiling and nodding to their subjects, he spoke out of the corner of his mouth, "You wouldn't come to me, so I had to come to you."

"I _did _come to you! Last night! You were asleep!"

"You didn't wake me."

"I know better than to wake a Warden who's actually sleeping for once!"

"Ah. Well then, don't I feel silly! But I didn't see you _at all _today." He turned to her and his eyes were limpidly, ridiculously imploring. Anora's lips twitched, wanting to smile back at him, but she firmed them.

"I was still thinking. And I was planning on seeing you. After dinner."

"When I'd most likely be asleep again?" He forestalled her answer by turning away to give a footman some orders as regarded his dinner preferences. Food was set before him almost immediately, and he spent a few moments cutting and eating a couple of bites of roast and parsnips before settling back against his cushions once more.

"So. How is that thinking going on?" he asked in a low undertone.

"It's still in progress."

"I see. Well, do let me know when you've reached a conclusion." There was no anger or condemnation in his tone, it was simply a request. He turned his attention to his mother and brother and the nobles closest to him at that point, and said no more to her.

She had her own conversations to conduct, but she did manage to keep a covert eye upon Corin. About ten minutes after he'd come in she saw the color suddenly run out of his face. He sagged back against the back of his chair.

"Corin?"

"I'm all right," he muttered. "Just overdid it a bit."

"You _think_?" she growled and he turned his head to smile at her.

"This is all your fault, you know. When left to my own devices, I get into all sorts of trouble. You'll see." He cast a quick eye down the table. "Look at Wynne-she's about to pop a vein. There's a bonus." Scanning the clump of mages and templars seated with the old enchanter down on that end, he noticed one tiny, red-clad figure and indicated her to Anora. "See the tiny mage there, in the Senior Enchanter robes? That's Surana. Did anyone tell you about her? She was with us on the roof."

"Wynne did. I gather she didn't entirely approve. But she seemed to think that she'd be an asset to you nonetheless."

"That's one way of putting it. I don't think I've ever seen so much death-dealing potential packed into such a small body in my life." He raised his voice and called down the table. "Congratulations on your promotion, Senior Enchanter Surana!"

All eyes turned to the little elf. Her face flushed near as red as her gown, but she grinned, rose halfway from her chair and started to wave vigorously at Corin, only to be elbowed by the First Enchanter, who sat beside her. Leaning close, he obviously gave her some instruction, whereupon she got all the way up and bowed properly in the Prince's direction before sitting down again and bowing her head over her plate.

Corin chuckled. "She's an obstreperous little thing." He then grew paler yet. "_Maker_," came his almost inaudible mutter and he raised two fingers to his temple.

"Corin…"Anora began, but he waved the same hand in her direction.

"It's all right, Anora. It's being taken care of." Sten rose and came up the table to them, obviously responding to the pre-arranged signal.

"_Kadan_?"

"As we discussed, Sten, please."

"Of course, _kadan_. I shall return presently." Corin closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and made a visible effort to eat a few more bites, aware that Fergus, Eleanor and Eamon were all watching him closely. He continued until the Qunari returned, then set down his fork and pushed himself up to his feet.

All conversation stopped and everyone rose with him. He smiled that flashing Cousland smile.

"I had hoped to spend more time with you this evening, but I think I'd better retire now. Please do enjoy yourselves without me."

Anora stood as well. "Teyrn Fergus, if you would be so kind as to preside. I think I will retire as well."

"Of course, Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness."

Applause and cheering rose behind them as they departed, as well as a few cries of "Maker save our Queen and Crown Prince!" Corin walked the few steps to the back of the dais as firmly as he had entered, though he leaned upon Sten to step off the dais. And he managed to get out the door with a modicum of dignity, though once it was closed behind them, his knees promptly buckled. There was no one else in the hall-Sten had apparently cleared the route back to Corin's room. The Qunari swept an arm around him and steadied him. Corin laid his own arm across the broad shoulders and sighed.

"Thank you, Sten."

Once again, that disapproving red-purple glare was turned upon Anora. "I do not know why you did not simply summon the female to you, _kadan_. This was most inefficient."

"Sten, would your _Arishok_ tell the _Arigena_, 'Come here right now, woman!'?"

The Qunari pondered this for a moment. "Not if the _tamassrans_ wanted him to ever breed again," he admitted at last. "Is this a similar situation?"

"Pretty similar."

Sten sighed, and turned his massive head to the Queen. "My apologies, Your Majesty. Your roles…are confusing. They are not clear-cut and one person may have more than one role. Some even _choose_ their roles, in defiance of where their best talents may lie. I have been here for more than a year and I still do not pretend to understand."

"That's quite all right, Sten. Thank you for helping Corin."

"He is _kadan_, so of course I would." He frowned down at Corin, who was hanging upon him more heavily with every step. "Though this is highly inefficient as well." Halting in the middle of the passage, he stooped and slid his other arm beneath the startled Prince's legs, lifting him to carry him outright.

After a moment, Corin chuckled, relaxed, twined his arm about the grey-purple neck and batted his eyes. "Why Sten, I didn't know you cared!"

"_Parshaara_! Enough! You will pay for this foolishness!" the Qunari growled. Anora was startled by the giant's ire, but her betrothed, who knew him much better, seemed undaunted.

"In _cookies_, perhaps?" he suggested.

"Cookies would be an acceptable form of payment," Sten rumbled in agreement as he started down the hall. "Two plates full of them. With some Seheron tea as well. The amount of annoyance you have inflicted upon me this evening definitely requires tea as a reward."

* * *

><p>Corin had worn lace-up boots, Anora discovered when they'd returned to his room.<p>

"It hurts to have my legs pulled on," he explained, as she stooped to unlace them.

"Who helped you get dressed?"

"Oh, one of the footmen. The first fellow who answered when I rang."

"You need a valet, Corin. It's not fair to Erlina to make her take care of us both."

His eyebrow lifted and he looked thoughtful. "It's not fair to make _you_ take care of me either."

"Trust me, I'm not going to make a habit of dressing and undressing you."

"_That's_ a pity. Particularly the _undressing_ part." He gave Anora another of those soulful, disappointed looks, which she ignored. "I'd never even thought about it, but you're right. Particularly now, when I need so much looking after. I was used to doing for myself when I grew up-Mother has never kept a maid. But a king…he _needs_ someone to keep track of the mundane stuff. Would you mind putting the word out, getting some people in for me to talk to?"

"I'd be glad to."

"Do you need me any longer, _kadan_?" Sten asked.

"No, thank you very much, Sten. Go get your dinner-I shan't interrupt again. And I'll see to the cookies and tea, I promise."

The Qunari nodded to them both, and left.

Anora, having pulled Corin's boots, started on the doublet. "He's very intimidating, I must admit," she said when Sten was gone. "I wonder if all Qunari are like him?"

"Probably not. If I understand him correctly, he was the commander of a squad or platoon of advance scouts who work in foreign territory. A military man of some rank. Your average Qunari scribe is probably quite innocuous." The doublet removed, Corin stretched with the same caution she'd seen him exhibit the last time he'd done it.

"Sten's a softy at heart, though. Place a kitten in his general vicinity and see what happens."

"A _kitten_? Really?"

"Really. And he's a connoisseur of art in a big way. He's got a little collection of things we found in our travels. I think he set himself up a sort of gallery in his room. Very eclectic."

"Good…gracious." There was nothing she could think of to say that wouldn't be inadequate. Corin chuckled.

"Indeed. Ring the bell for me, would you, please? I need to see about Sten's cookies and I'm not getting up from this chair by myself." His upraised hand forestalled her offer. "And _you_ certainly don't need to be hoisting me! I'm a big fellow."

* * *

><p>So Anora rang the bell and a footman appeared, apparently the same fellow who'd been on duty earlier. He bowed upon finding Anora there. "Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness. I should tell you that Senior Enchanter Wynne is on her way here."<p>

"That's only to be expected…" Corin sighed. "Peter, isn't it?"

"Yes, Your Royal Highness."

"I'll deal with her when she comes. Could you fetch me a night shirt and help me get into it? And then help me into bed? I might avoid the worst of her wrath that way."

"Of course, Your Royal Highness."

Peter helped the Prince change into a nightshirt and then lifted him up into bed. He was then given further directions from Corin about Sten's cookies and tea, and a request to bring some dinner for Corin and Anora back to the room. When he'd departed, Corin gave his betrothed a wry smile.

"I didn't mean to presume. But I thought you might like your dinner, since I took you away from it early."

"I was feeling a bit queasy, to be honest," Anora admitted. "I don't know that I'm much interested in eating. But I probably should anyway."

"Oh dear, is _that_ starting already? You're going to hate me before this is done, I fear."

"I doubt that."

"Really? I'd assumed from today that the deal has gone sour already. _Have_ I messed up things between us irreparably?"

Clever of him, to work things around to the bronto in the room. Corin had been nothing but honest. She owed him the same in return, but somehow couldn't force herself to speak.

"_Talk to me_, Anora."

"I…what happened this evening, when you came into the hall. I'll guarantee you that sort of respect isn't tendered to _me_. It has become increasingly apparent that any influence I have in our new regime will be because _you _allow it. That's rather disconcerting."

"Because you felt powerless when your father was Regent, and it looks as if things aren't getting appreciably better?" She nodded, and Corin gave her a penetrating stare. "Does this explain why you _didn't_ have the Council meeting in my room today, when you'd promised that you would?"

Maker, she'd actually totally forgotten about that in her unease over the ritual! But he probably wouldn't believe that, might very well think she'd excluded him in an effort to solidify her own power. With an effort she met Corin's eyes, her voice sounding feeble in her own ears.

"No. I was thinking, as I said-"

"Avoiding me, don't you mean?"

"Well, yes, if you must know. I do apologize. I'd actually forgotten about the Council meeting until you mentioned it just now."

There was a knock at the door. Anora went to open it to find, as expected, that Wynne was fuming in the hall.

"Your Majesty. I would like to have a look at the Crown Prince, if I may."

"Of course, Wynne. I would like to make sure he's not done himself any harm as well."

"Of all the idiotic things! Whatever possessed him…"

"Grey Wardens are tough, Wynne," Corin said, virtuously reclining against his pillows. "And you know that I've got a lot of experience in pushing through when I'm wounded. I didn't hurt myself."

"I'll be the judge of that, Your Royal Highness!" came Wynne's tart reply. Her wrinkled face got the abstracted look that said she was concentrating and blue light blossomed, as her hands moved up and down above the Crown Prince's body. At last, she sighed and shook herself.

"You seem to be unharmed. But take it easy, Corin. A little walk down the hall just a bit probably wouldn't go amiss-you do need to start moving again. But not all the way to the dining hall please, not the first time out!"

"Yes, Wynne," he said, looking up at her from underneath his lashes. "Could I have a bedtime story, please? With _griffons_?"

"Oh, for the Maker's sake! Between Zevran and his ceaseless commentary on my bosom and you and your griffons, I'll never get any peace!" But the Senior Enchanter was smiling as she took her leave.

"Wynne?" Corin asked as she laid her hand upon the door latch. "I called for dinner just a few minutes ago. Could you have them wait to bring it until I ring again?"

"Of course, Corin. Good evening to you both." She departed and Corin gave Anora a meaningful look.

"There. We won't be interrupted again now." She nodded, shifting a little uncomfortably in her chair. His eyes narrowed.

"Anora. If I'd wanted to take the throne _for myself, by myself_, I could have done so. _Believe_ it." There was absolute certainty in his voice, and she didn't doubt him in any event. He'd achieved many more difficult things. "When I proposed to you, it was because I _wanted_ you with me!"

"For the advantages I brought to the union."

"Exactly! I hardly knew you at the time, after all. I figured that having you on my side would make your father's faction more likely to toe the line in the end. And I was well aware that you'd been doing a lot of the actual work of reigning. For continuity's sake alone, you were a great asset. The fact that I can _talk _to you, that you're sexy and smart, was an _incredible_ bonus!"

"I'm over a decade older than you, Corin, and it's not yet been proved that I can give you a child."

"And _I'm _going to turn into the next best thing to a _darkspawn_ by the time I'm fifty! And my ability to hold up _my _end in giving you a viable child because of the Taint is still an unknown as well! We've _both_ got issues here!" He stopped speaking for a moment, rubbing his brow, his weariness apparent.

"You're exhausted, Corin. We should take this up at another time." Anora rose.

"Anora, sit back down. _Please_. We need to get this out in the open now, so it doesn't fester, because it looks as if that's what's happening already."

It wasn't pleading exactly, but it would have taken sterner stuff than she currently possessed to resist the appeal in his voice. She re-seated herself, and her young Crown Prince met her eyes once more.

"Look, I'm sorry that I hurt you," he said earnestly. "I'll apologize for that as many times as you'd like me to. And I'm sorry that I am in love with another woman. On some level, I honestly wish I wasn't. It would certainly be easier for me as well. I know that you have issues, insecurities because of Cailan. But Morrigan is _gone_ now and she won't be coming back. I thought, perhaps erroneously, that it would be better to be absolutely honest about that. And I still have to think that you would prefer knowing about the ritual now, rather than have it come to light after we'd been together for years. I'd rather have to fight to win your trust now, than to get it and have it shattered later."

All of which was absolutely honest and straightforward and demanded an answer in kind.

"The business about everyone preferring your rule to mine aside," Anora said after taking a deep breath, "I find myself…caring about you and it frightens me. Because of Cailan and because-"

"-Because it gives me even more power over you?" Corin finished. She nodded.

"I am coming to care for you as well. It's not a bad thing, Anora. We're going to be married. To cleave solely unto each other, as it were. I told you that I'm yours. That means yours _alone_. If you decide that you don't want any more _cleaving_, then I'm still your husband and I'll live in a cold bed. And end with the best-developed forearms in Ferelden, no doubt."

"You _can't_ bind yourself in that way!"

His brows drew down. "Certainly you know better than to suggest to me there's something I _can't_ do?" Reaching his hand to the pouch at his throat, he said, "In Andraste's name, I swear it."

He would never break such an oath, Anora knew. And that certainty both calmed and inflamed her. Those stupid, annoying tears began pouring down her face again.

"I'm sorry. This keeps happening. Eleanor says it's because of the baby."

"The baby, the fact that you've lost your husband and your father and damned near your country in this last year and you've not properly allowed yourself to grieve. I suspect it's more than a bit of that as well. You have to let those things out, Anora. Don't you remember me telling you about having the service for my family at Redcliffe? Grief is like acid-it eats you up inside if you keep it bottled up. I knew I needed to get rid of it, so that I could function."

"It's embarrassing. I feel so weak!"

"_Weak_? You're not weak! I've known people who would be useless wrecks had they only gone through _half _of what you've suffered! Yet here you are, going out every day to do the best you can by your people. You're solid silverite, woman!"

"Not _dragonbone_?" she sniffed, pulling a handkerchief out of her belt purse.

"Silverite is prettier and shinier, but very, very tough. Definitely silverite." He patted the bed. "Wouldn't you like to come up here? I've got extra handkerchiefs in the bedside table."

It didn't take more than that. She found herself scrambling up to settle against his shoulder, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose in the most unromantic fashion possible. Corin didn't seem to mind. He curled his arm about her, and laid his forehead against the top of her head with a sigh of what could have been contentment.

His voice sounded low in her ear. "Love is always a risk, Anora. It's the biggest risk of all, and it's scary. But the alternative is so much worse." His hand stroked her hair gently, soothingly. "If I'd just wanted a royal broodmare, I could have had one. I needed a _Queen_. I needed _you_."


	44. Chapter 44

Thanks to mille libri, gerbillmonkey12, Guest, SuperGravyMan, xseikax, Shom, FellowNrd, spectre4hire, anon, lazyguy90, Jade Ookami, hinatalover445, Mike3207, 17986, JordanMathias, Ronin Kenshin, Liso66, Rake1810, acedude and csorciere for your reviews last chapter. Also many thanks to those who have favorited and alerted my story!

As you might have noticed, I'm writing a lot of fanfic for NaNoWriNo...Also, because it might factor in this chapter, you should know that I've never read any of the DA novels, so aside from what details I've picked up from the DA Wiki, I've no knowledge of them. Any derivation from that canon will just have to be considered intentionally AU on my part.

* * *

><p>The trip up to Soldier's Peak was uneventful. Alistair and Cauthrien discussed many things during the journey-their childhoods, some of the stories from Corin's and Alistair's year-long quest and some of their plans for the Order's future in Ferelden. There was the occasional awkward moment-Cauthrien couldn't say much of her life beyond her sixteenth year, for that was when she rescued Loghain and he had been central to her life from that point on. Alistair also tried to repress his antipathy for the late Teyrn, which made some of the stories of his last, storied year off limits.<p>

Cauthrien was impressed at her first sight of Soldier's Peak, and astonished for another reason altogether. "How could something the size of this slipped our notice?" she asked Alistair. "We're not that far from Highever, and we had troops all over this part of the country!"

"It's well hidden, tucked back here into the hills like it is," Alistair agreed. "If you were to collapse the tunnels, then no one could get in."

"You couldn't get out, either," Cauthrien noted, her eyebrow raised.

"There is that."

He'd tried to prepare Cauthrien for Avernus, and he wasn't in any hurry himself to greet the old mage. So they carried the chests into the keep, foregoing any help by the Drydens, and Alistair opened the secret door that had contained Warden Commander Asturian's stash. Both chests fit into the compartment handily, and he made sure that Cauthrien knew the Oath so that she could access them, as she was currently the only other Warden. Then he took Cauthrien on a tour of the castle and grounds, knowing that she had much more experience than he did as regarded utilizing and managing such a keep.

Cauthrien had kind words for Levi and his family about the work they'd done to restore the Peak, and she spent some time discussing metallurgy with Mikail. Alistair was beginning to know the woman who was his de facto second-in-command, and from the speculative look in her eye as she looked about, he suspected there were some changes she was contemplating making, however complimentary she might have been.

Having set aside six vials of Archdemon blood for the old mage, Alistair finally took Cauthrien to the tower, warning her in advance that things might be a bit gruesome and in bad repair. But when they arrived in Avernus' chambers, he could have kissed Levi Dryden. The merchant might warn his children away from the tower, but someone had been brave enough to come and repair the huge crack in the wall and clean the ancient corpses out of the laboratory. The chains still remained in the prison pits, causing Cauthrien to raise an eyebrow when she saw them, but the overall atmosphere had been much improved.

Avernus himself seemed to have been cared for as well. His robes were clean and a fireplace had been installed in the room. He was seated near it, reading, when Alistair and Cauthrien came in.

He looked up, his expression pensive. "Come back to check on my research, did you?" he wheezed. "What happened to the other Warden?"

"He killed the Archdemon," Alistair said.

"Ah. I see. A pity, that."

"And he left the Wardens. He's going to be the King of Ferelden."

Avernus' eyebrows lifted. "How exactly did he manage that?"

"It's a long story."

"Limited though my remaining time is, I think I can spare enough to hear your account of _that_." He even took up parchment and pen to record what Alistair told him.

So Alistair explained about the blood ritual. Not having witnessed it himself, he wasn't able to give Avernus any real information about the actual spells or methodology employed, which annoyed the old mage. But Avernus' mood improved immediately when Alistair gave him the Archdemon blood. His skeletal hands cradled a vial of it almost reverently.

"So you are the Warden-Commander now, Warden Theirin?" Alistair nodded. "You've just made it _much_ more likely that I will be able to complete my research before I die. I had not expected to ever get my hands upon Archdemon blood again, much less in such quantity. I thank you."

"You're very welcome."

"What are you going to do with the rest of it? Send it to Weisshaupt?"

"I've not decided yet."

Avernus cackled. "To the victor go the spoils, heh?"

"More like only the Wardens who actually _showed up _for the Blight get the blood."

"If that's the criteria we are going to use then we might want to send a bit of it to Jader," Cauthrien noted. "In memory of Riordan."

Alistair nodded. "We might do that." He turned his attention back to Avernus. "I've a question for you, Avernus. Corin's betrothed is pregnant. Because of the ritual, we know that Warden babies carry the Taint. How does it affect them?"

"They don't turn into darkspawn, if that's what you're worried about," the ancient mage snorted. "There isn't any visible sign of the Taint, and they don't seem to have any special abilities. Mind you, two Wardens together can't make a viable child-the Taint is too overwhelming. But the children born to a Warden and non-Warden bear a bit of resistance to the Taint. There have never been very many of them, but of the few instances that have been recorded, all of the children of Wardens who hazarded the Joining survived. Every single one." Avernus actually chuckled, a creepy, croupy sound.

"I once suggested to Sophia that it would be sensible to insist that all newly joined Wardens have babies while they could, so that we could raise up a new crop of Wardens without the death toll the current Joining enacts. But we never put it into practice."

"What happens when those Tainted children have children?"

"If they have not Joined themselves and have children with a non-Warden, I don't expect that there would be a problem. After all, they'd be diluting the Taint even further. A doubly-Tainted Warden? Interesting question. You might try yourself and let me know what happens."

"What are you talking about?"

"The children of Wardens bear the Taint they received from the Joining and there's also a sort of shadow-Taint from their Warden parent. It's discernable to a Warden mage. I see it when I look at you."

"What are you saying?"

"That one of your parents was a Grey Warden," came Avernus' mild response.

Shocked, Alistair stared at the wizened old mage. "That's not _possible_! My father was King Maric and my mother was a serving woman at Redcliffe Castle."

"Are you absolutely sure of that?"

"About my father, yes."

"Then it was your mother who was the Warden." Wide-eyed, Alistair looked over at Cauthrien, who seemed rather coolly intrigued.

"I expect there's a certain arl who will have a _lot_ to answer for when we get back to Denerim," she said with an evil smile.

* * *

><p>Avernus agreed to make sufficient base for a dozen Joining potions the Wardens could take with them, a simple enough matter now with the Archdemon blood on hand. He further agreed to make more of it and store it at Soldier's Peak, along with a copy of the formula so that they would not be left in the lurch should he perish in the next few months. Instructions for combining the formula with the darkspawn blood were sent with Cauthrien and Alistair.<p>

"Any reasonably competent mage of Enchanter rank or better should be able to do this for you," he said.

Having achieved everything they had come for, Ferelden's only two Wardens were not inclined to hang about, particularly considering the huge amount of work that was still going on in Denerim. Avernus also seemed eager for them to go, so that he could begin his experiments anew. After checking with the Drydens about what they might need in the way of building materials or provisions, Alistair, Cauthrien and Pooka took their leave.

* * *

><p>They were half a day out from Soldier's Peak when Cauthrien brought the subject of conversation around to Avernus' revelation.<p>

"Alistair, I'd like to talk to you about something, but it's something that you might rightly feel is none of my business. So if you do feel that way, feel free to tell me to shut up."

"You're my Warden sister. Wardens take care of each other. Go ahead."

Cauthrien took a deep breath. "All right then. There _has_ to be something more to this business about your mother. What I mean is that there had to be more to the story than just her being a Warden. I'd lay money on it."

"Why do you say that?"

"Despite the fact that the Wardens have been in disfavor for a long time here in Ferelden, I have to think that Eamon would have told you about this before now. Particularly since you saved him at Redcliffe and he found out you'd been made a Warden and most definitely since the Blight has been ended. Which makes me think there's something _else_ he doesn't want you to know."

"I've been wondering about that myself. Coming up with the most horrible scenarios," Alistair agreed, his expression glum. "Like Father killing Mother, or Mother turning into a broodmother or a ghoul. Stuff like that. The only bright point in all this is that if it's true, Goldanna is no relation of mine."

"Goldanna?"

"Oh, that's right. I didn't tell you about her. She's supposedly my half-sister." He recounted his visit to Goldanna with Corin in Denerim. Cauthrien whistled when he was done.

"I don't think I'd want to claim her as a relative either. What a cold piece of work! I can see why being free of her would be a big plus for you."

"Yes, it would. But now I'm waiting for the other boot to drop. I can't live like that. I've _got _to find out what the true story is as soon as we get back."

* * *

><p>"Ah, Warden-Commander! The Queen put the word out that she would appreciate it if you would report to her as soon as you got in," the guard at the front entrance to the Palace said.<p>

"She'd probably like it better if I cleaned up first," Alistair said.

"I wouldn't know about that, sir. She seemed to feel it was pretty urgent." Alistair nodded, and bade Cauthrien good-bye.

"Do let me know what happens if you can get Eamon to talk," she said. "I'm off to a bath and a big supper."

"Thanks for everything, Cauthrien. I'll check with you tomorrow after I've spoken with the Queen and Prince about what still needs to be done in Denerim. If they've got things in hand, we might want to go out of the city and start searching for straggler darkspawn."

"I'd like that better than demolishing houses," Cauthrien noted.

Alistair nodded. "Pook, you're with me." He went off in search of his own bath.

* * *

><p>When he was cleaned up and respectable (a selection of reasonably nice garments having mysteriously found their way into his wardrobe in his absence), he inquired after the Queen's location and was told she was taking supper with the Prince in the Prince's room. Pooka had already returned to Corin on his own.<p>

His knock on the door was answered by an enthusiastic command to enter from Corin. He and the Queen were eating dinner at a small table near a window. Alistair was pleased to see this further sign of Corin's recovery. Pooka was dozing by the fireplace.

"How was Avernus?" the Crown Prince asked with a grin. "Did he miss me?"

"He did in fact ask after you, and was rather surprised to find that you were still here. And he was annoyed that I couldn't give him all the proper, magey details about how you pulled that off. Other than that, he was the same creepy, crackly, nasty old piece of work he always is. But he did help me with that problem I had."

"Excellent!"

"Did you ask him about the children, Alistair?" Anora asked, a sudden tension plain upon her face.

"I did, Your Majesty. According to Avernus, the Taint doesn't affect them in any visible way. Doesn't give them any advantages either. The only thing it does do, as far as he knows, is that if the child of a Warden undergoes the Joining, he or she always survives. So I think you'll be just fine."

The Queen sighed. "Thank you. That's quite the relief."

"You're very welcome, Your Majesty."

"Anora, Alistair. Please."

Corin's eyebrow was up. "They _always_ survive the Joining? You'd think the Wardens would be _breeding_ more Wardens then, wouldn't you?"

"Avernus said something of the sort as well," Alistair said with a smirk. "Guess you two think alike in some ways." A roll flew towards his head in retaliation and he snatched it out of the air deftly. "But it probably didn't catch on for one reason. If you were a Warden, and had a son or daughter you loved, would you want them to be a Warden too?"

"I see your point." Corin looked over at the Queen. "Do you mind if Alistair joins us, Anora?"

"Not at all." She rang a small bell on the table and Erlina poked her head through the door that connected the Queen's quarters to Corin's.

"Erlina, would you be so kind as to see if some dinner might be brought for the Warden-Commander? He's joining us."

"Of course, Your Majesty." She dropped a curtsey in the general direction of the table and vanished back into the room, shutting the door behind her.

"Pull up a chair, Alistair," Corin said, moving some dishes to make room for him at the side of the table. When Alistair had done so, moving one of the fireside chairs over and nibbling on the roll, the Crown Prince asked, "Everything else all right up there?"

"Just fine," Alistair said between bites. ",But I think we owe Levi Dryden some sort of token of appreciation. Apparently the Drydens, in their zeal for picking up the place, even cleaned up Avernus' laboratory."

"Wow. Have we got any spare bannorns lying about, Anora?"

"Corin. You're not serious, are you?"

"You haven't seen Avernus' laboratory!" He smiled at her furrowed brow. "No, I'm not serious."

"The trip went just fine, all around. We didn't see hide or hair of darkspawn. It was very quiet. But there's one other thing."

"What is that?" Corin asked, sobering in the face of Alistair's sudden and obvious discomfort.

"When we were talking about the Warden children, Avernus said that he didn't know much about what happened when _they_ had children, but that he figured it would be all right, so long as they married a non-Warden and kept diluting the Taint."

"That makes sense to me."

"What he couldn't tell me was what happened when one of those Warden children who became Wardens had children. He told me to go do it and find out, and when I asked him what he was talking about, he said that _I_ was one of those, that he could see the shadow of the parental Taint in me, as well as the Joining Taint."

Corin was as sharp as ever. "But that would mean that one of _your _parents was a Warden!"

"Exactly."

"Then Eamon lied to you about your mother being one of his maids?" Anora asked.

"It looks that way."

"It's incontestable that Maric was your father," Corin said. "Or at least, hard to contest. Eamon told me he had proof of your parentage, though I've never actually seen it. It might be time to have those documents put in Crown hands."

Anora's eyes were narrowed and very chilly. "I agree, Corin. We should probably see to that tonight." She looked up at Alistair and her expression softened. "I would imagine that you wish to speak with Eamon, Alistair. Would you like to do that alone, or would you like witnesses?"

"I…I would _really_ appreciate it if the two of you were there. I don't think he'd dare do anything but give us the straight story if you were."

"Then we shall do it here," the Queen said, with a firm nod. "After dinner." As if on cue, Alistair's stomach made a protesting growl. Anora laughed. "And the sooner, the better from the sound of things. I've not much of an appetite myself at present, but it's nice to see that other people still do!"

* * *

><p>Despite his worry over his parentage, Alistair was able to do dinner justice when it was brought. It had been a three day journey, after all, and even though Cauthrien had turned out to be a decent camp cook (and had assumed the cooking duties permanently after eating Alistair's offering the first night on their way up to the Peak), it was still travel food. <em>There are decided advantages to keeping company with royalty during a time of Blight.<em>

Though the royal couple weren't eating particularly lavishly. The dinner, when it was brought, was hot and excellently prepared, but modest of proportion, though there were some more of the excellent rolls. Alistair made short work of it while the three of them discussed the progress made in Denerim in his absence.

"If you and Cauthrien want to give the city a general going over, make sure we didn't miss any pockets of Taint, that would be great," Corin said. "In your absence, we've mostly been taking down the stuff that was burned and halfway falling down already. But it would be nice to know if all of the building materials we salvaged are safe."

"Sounds like you're getting back on the horse," Alistair noted.

"We held Council meetings in Corin's room for three days, then he felt well enough to come to the Council chambers," Anora said. "I must say, Grey Wardens are _resilient_."

"Yes, we are," her betrothed agreed. "In fact, I need to talk with you about a particular aspect of that resiliency sometime soon, Anora." He waggled a brow in her general direction and the Queen blushed.

"Corin! For Maker's sake, not while I'm _eating_!" Alistair declared, and they all laughed.

* * *

><p>When Alistair was done with his meal, Anora rang for Erlina and had her summon a footman to bring Arl Eamon to them. Alistair almost wished he hadn't eaten dinner, because his stomach started roiling badly as he waited. He was always so conflicted where Eamon was concerned, a boy's blameless love overlaid with the adolescent resentment caused by his abandonment and the adult's cynical realization of how Eamon had been using him as a pawn.<p>

Anora had made plain that the matter was urgent and that she would brook no delay, so in a very short time the arl was announced. That was actually impressive, as Corin and Anora knew that he'd gone home to his townhouse. Eamon looked tired after the day's meetings, but that weariness was swiftly overlaid with a wary curiosity when confronted with the three of them.

"Your Majesty. Your Royal Highness. Alistair. Your message said that it was urgent. What has transpired?"

Corin gestured expansively to Alistair. "He's all yours."

Alistair took a deep breath. When he spoke, he was surprised to find that his voice was level, unemotional, even crisp. "My lord arl. During my visit up to Soldier's Peak, I uncovered something very interesting. Someone who has cause to know said that one of my parents was a Warden. So I'd like to know-have you been lying about the King being my father all along, or the fact that one of your maids was my mother?"

Anora was suddenly pure Ice Queen. "Yes, Eamon, that is something _We,_" and a sweep of her hand included Corin in the royal plural as well, "would very much like to know as well."

Alistair had been wondering if Avernus could have been mistaken, but Eamon's reaction confirmed that the old Warden mage had been right on the money. Or at the very least that Eamon was hiding _something_ about Alistair's parentage. _Cauthrien would have won her bet._ The Arl went pale, paler even than when he'd been poisoned. There was a long moment of silence.

"Eamon, _We _are waiting for your answer," Corin said and if his tone was less cool than Anora's, it was no less inexorable.

"I…Your Majesties…" the arl stammered, then collected himself. "This is something that I had hoped would never come to light."

"Obviously," Anora said, her lip curled. "But it has, and your best hope is to come clean about Alistair's parentage swiftly, Eamon. We do not appreciate being lied to."

"I did not lie about Alistair's father. Maric did sire you, lad, and I do have the proofs."

"Speaking of which, Eamon, such proofs are most properly kept in the _Crown's _possession, as they concern the legitimacy of the Theirin bloodline," Corin said with an authority that could not be denied. "Admittedly, that was not advisable during the recent unrest, but things have settled out now. So I suggest that you send for them and any other information you have about Alistair's parentage and have them brought here immediately." Eamon glanced at Anora, only to receive a glacial nod of agreement.

"The documents are sensitive, Your Majesties…"

"Then go and get them yourself _now_ or send to Teagan to bring them!" Anora snapped.

"Just send for Teagan," Corin suggested mildly. "I think it might be best to keep the Arl right here, under Our eyes." Eamon actually went paler still, as he finally realized the depth of the hole he'd been dropped into. "I'm assuming they're all in one place, Eamon? One box or book or something you can tell him to fetch?"

"Yes, Your Royal Highness."

"Good." Corin rose and moved a bit stiffly over to the desk, where he got parchment, pen and ink and brought it back to the dinner table. "Write him now, and We will read it before you seal."

The arl looked around at them all for a moment, before beginning to write. When he was done, Corin and Anora looked it over. "The brown folio in your lockbox," the Queen said. "Very well. Sit, love," she said to Corin, as he began to rise again. "You've been on your feet enough today." Eamon looked startled at her mode of address. Alistair was a little surprised himself, but Corin was obviously not and obediently subsided, giving his Queen a grin and an ostentatiously blown kiss.

"I'll do it this time," the Queen said, a smile flitting briefly across her face before it resumed its former gravity. She fetched the sealing wax to Eamon and watched as the arl sealed the note and handed it to her. Then she rang for a footman.

"Summon a captain of Maric's Shield and a squad of twelve," she told the startled servant. "I have an errand for them, of some urgency and delicacy." When he had departed, Anora closed the door and turned back to the Arl.

"That will take a little time. Not much, but a little. In the meantime, you may as well start talking, Eamon."

"Shortly after Rowan died," Eamon said heavily, "Maric was approached by the Orlesian Commander of the Grey. Since he had let the Grey Wardens back into the country, Warden-Commander Genevieve thought that he might be sympathetic to her plight. Her brother, who was also a Warden, had been taken by the darkspawn and was being held close to…Ortan Thaig, I think they called it? Maric and Loghain were the only two people who'd been down in that section of the Deep Roads."

The arl sighed. "From things Maric said, it was more important than just rescuing one Grey Warden. Genevieve's brother had some sensitive information that needed to be retrieved. And Maric had received information from somewhere that indicated a Blight might be rising in Ferelden in the immediate future, and he hoped to forestall it." Eamon grimaced. "Obviously, he and the people who went down with him into the Roads were not able to do that, whatever else they managed to accomplish."

The arl started pacing slowly about the room, a sign of rare unease in a person who usually exhibited extreme self-possession.

"I honestly don't know how much of what Maric told me was true, and how much of that was to make myself and Loghain think better of Maric for skipping out on his duties as king. He was grieving Rowan, having trouble dealing with Cailan, and honestly, rather chafed at the day-to-day chores of ruling a country. So off he went, down into the Deep Roads, with Genevieve and Duncan and a band of other Wardens."

"_Duncan_ was with him?" Alistair asked.

"Oh, yes," the arl said. "As well as a young Warden named Fiona. Fiona was your mother, Alistair. She and Maric became lovers down in the Deep Roads. I still don't know exactly what happened, but when they came out of the Roads, there was some treachery on the part of the First Enchanter, the one before Irving, and they were captured. Loghain was forced to take an army to rescue them. Maric resumed his duties as king, and Fiona went off to Weishaupt to make a report on what had transpired. It was all Grey Warden stuff and very hush-hush. Fiona returned some months later to Denerim, with Maric's child in her arms. That was you, Alistair. She said that her Warden duties precluded her raising you properly. And there were other reasons, reasons she felt that made it a better choice for you to be raised here."

"Because being raised in a _stable _was so much better than being raised at _Weisshaupt_?" Alistair asked bitterly. Eamon possessed the grace to wince.

"Your mother thought it better that your connection to her not be known, and Maric and I agreed. That's why he gave you into my keeping and I concocted the tale that you were the son of a maid who had recently died as a cover story."

"Come now, Eamon, what was so bad about this young woman, a brave Grey Warden, that it could not be known that Alistair was her son?" Anora asked with a touch of impatience. The arl stopped in his tracks and turned to face them.

"Because not only was Fiona _Orlesian_, she was an _elf_. And a _mage_."

* * *

><p>A stunned silence greeted the arl's announcement for a moment. Then Alistair laughed, and it was the ugliest sound Corin had ever heard him make. His voice was uncharacteristically harsh when he spoke.<p>

"Well! That explains a lot! No _wonder_ you didn't want anybody else fostering me, my lord arl! It wouldn't have done if Maric's bastard suddenly exhibited mage gift, now would it? Half-elves just look human, but it's a little harder to hide the fact that the royal by-blow just burned the barn down by accident! By the way, I think you owe your horses and hounds an _apology_, for putting them in danger like that!"

Eamon threw up a hand. "You've every right to be angry, Alistair. Any number of people have rightfully upbraided me for my shortcomings where caring for you was concerned." His glance crossed Corin's for an instant. "But I was _certain_ that you were going to manifest mage gift-Fiona was a very powerful mage. And it just seemed safer-and easier- to…keep you at a distance, if you were going to end up in the Tower in a few years anyway. And safer for Maric and Cailan as well. I didn't want any question rising about the possibility of mage-blood in the Theirin line." He rubbed his brow. His pacing had brought him close to one of the wingback chairs.

"Your Majesties, may I sit?"

Anora inclined her head. "You may." Eamon pulled the chair around so that he was facing them and dropped heavily into it.

"Then, after I married Isolde, and she started making such a fuss about you, I thought it might be best to send you to the Templars. The gift had not manifested yet, but it was still not too late for it to do so in the next couple of years. If you were in their keeping already, you'd be sent off to the Circle quietly and it was unlikely that it would ever be known. And if you did not manifest mage gift, well…there are worse places to get an education and instruction in arms." He sighed.

"But the gift never manifested in _you. _It came to Connor, _my _only son. And now _he'll_ have to go to the Circle. And so the Maker punishes me for my failings where you were concerned."

"You told me once, Alistair, that Duncan knew you were Maric's son," Corin said to his friend. He then turned to the arl. "I'm assuming he knew about Fiona as well?"

"Yes. Of course."

"And did Cailan?"

"Yes. Maric told him everything."

"Then that explains why Cailan never acknowledged you, took you away from the Templars. He didn't want the mage blood and he wasn't particularly desperate yet about getting his own progeny. Begging your pardon, Anora."

"No pardon needed, Corin."

"But you were his last best hope at Ostagar, so he sent you with me to Ishal to save us. It also explains Duncan's timing about making you a Warden. He waited as long as he could, willing to defer to Cailan should Cailan decide to acknowledge you in some capacity. But when Cailan didn't and you were going to have to take final vows, _then_ Duncan asked you if you would like to be a Warden. Because once the Chantry got its hooks in you like that, and got you addicted to lyrium, you'd never be free again. Had you had a genuine vocation, he probably would have let you go. But you wanted out, and he was your only chance of escape. _And _you were good enough to be a Warden in any event, or he wouldn't have asked you even then. We both know about how ruthless Duncan could be."

Alistair nodded. His face was grim as he mulled over the new information. _My mother has a name at last. Fiona. And she wasn't a maid, she was a Grey Warden. And an elf. And a mage._

"Mother" had always been a faceless concept to him, an indistinct figure in maid's uniform, shadows where her face would be. Had anything really changed? Now she was an indistinct figure in mage robes, holding a staff, with pointed ears protruding from the shadows where her face would be. _Not much difference, really, except…_Alistair brightened a little.

"On the bright side, I guess that business about an arldom is over with now," he said.

Corin looked both relieved and amused. He had obviously been watching, worried about Alistair's reaction. "Why ever would you think that?"

"Come _on_, Corin! Did you _miss_ the part about elf-blood and mage-blood?"

"No." The Crown Prince shrugged. "But the elf-blood doesn't show, and it looks as if you take after your father where the mage-blood is concerned. If we find the right girl with no mage blood in _her_ background, I don't think it will be a problem." Belatedly, he threw a look at Anora. "Providing, of course, that _Anora_ has no objection."

The Queen gave Alistair a smile that had genuine warmth in it. "I have no objection whatsoever. My search for appropriate wife-candidates for you will still continue, Alistair. You're not off the hook." Alistair groaned, and her smile broadened. Then her attention turned back to Eamon and that warmth evaporated. "And my betrothed and I would take it _very much _amiss if any information leaked out that would jeopardize insuring Alistair a place that his abilities and blood merit. Is that understood, Eamon?"

"There would be no reason for me to do so, Your Majesty," the arl replied with some dignity-and a little heat. "I too wish to see Alistair elevated as he deserves. _Obviously_ so, since I kept this information from even you and the Crown Prince and am now paying the price for that."

"Fair enough," Anora said. A sound of clanking was echoing down the hall, coming towards them. "Ah. I think the escort is here."

It was the work of moments to give the captain his orders and the message for Teagan. Once the soldiers were gone, Anora came back in and in an effort to lighten the atmosphere while waiting for Teagan, she and Corin began discussing the day's Council meeting with Eamon. Alistair listened with one ear for the most part, though his attention was piqued when what the mages were accomplishing was brought up.

It seemed that, along with helping to clear Denerim and incinerating darkspawn bodies from a safe distance, the mages were also working on a stretch of Blighted land close by the walls of the city. A grid-work of plots was laid out and numbered, and they were using a variety of magical spells, different approaches to each plot. The plan was to seed all the plots identically in the spring and see if any of the spell combinations had dispelled the Taint.

"It sounds like they're keeping busy," Alistair remarked. Corin nodded.

"Even though it's not been proven that magic is really helping anything yet, the fact that it does purify has gotten around. People have seen what the mages are doing in Denerim. We've had numerous requests from lords and yeoman farmers for mages to come and sear their Blighted land. The general belief is, even if it doesn't actively help, it might keep the Blight from spreading further."

"I'll bet Gregoir is overjoyed about that. Isn't he spread a little thin?"

"A bit. But I'm inclined to think he's content to let things ride for now. The mages are behaving, and people are being very complimentary of the way his men are keeping charge of them. It's good publicity for the Chantry. Even the Grand Cleric is keeping her mouth shut. There is still such a need for healers, for one thing, that if she were to insist that they all go back to Kinloch, it would cost a lot of lives and cast the Chantry in a less-than-favorable light."

"How is Surana getting along? Have you seen her?"

"Oh, yes. She recovered quite nicely. She's been at dinner every night. Irving is keeping her busy."

"Burning buildings down and searing plots of land?"

"Yes. Why?" Corin asked, his brow raised inquisitively.

"I've been thinking. I hate to admit this, but I sort of miss Morrigan's death-and-destruction. It's just _nice_ to have a mage around who can do fire spells when you're dealing with darkspawn."

"Are you thinking of Conscripting her?" the Crown Prince asked quietly.

"No. Not unless she were willing and I absolutely had to do it to get her." Alistair looked over at Eamon, then at Corin and said no more about his reservations upon that matter with non-Wardens present. The plain fact of the matter was that he _liked_ Surana too much to risk her in the Joining. "But I was wondering if there wasn't some way she could be remanded over to the Wardens as a…I'm not sure what the correct term would be."

"A liason?" Anora suggested. "A sign of good faith and cooperation between the Wardens and the Circle?"

"Yes…that might work. Do you think Gregoir and Irving would go for it? Surana's awfully good in a fight. And I think she'd probably prefer to do that to Firestorming farmland."

"You won't know unless you ask," Corin said. "You're the Commander of the Grey, and you helped kill the Archdemon. Use that political capital to get what you want. If anyone should ask, you've got the Crown's support and approval." He looked at Anora, who nodded her head.

"We want you to have whatever tools and people you need to do your job, Alistair," she said. "But you're the one who knows best what that job is at this point. How much more trouble from the darkspawn can we expect?"

Alistair sat back in his chair. "Here is where Duncan's teaching of me falls down a bit," he admitted ruefully, focusing a quelling glare on Corin, who'd snickered. "We were concentrating so much on how Blights start and stopping them, that he never got around to much about what happens afterward. All he told me was that the Wardens called the period right after a Blight a Thaw, and their actions during that time a Thaw Hunt. He said that there was still more darkspawn activity than normal, as they all made their way back down under ground."

"Needless to say, the Crown of Ferelden upholds the Warden Right of Conscription," Anora declared, with a meaningful look at her betrothed. "And we'll do whatever we can to get you the supplies and men you need, be they conscripts or regular army. Are you planning on doing patrols?"

"I've not spoken to Cauthrien about it yet, but I'm thinking the best thing to do is for each of us to take a sizeable squad and go over the immediate area around Denerim for a start. That will hopefully give us a good idea of what the extent of the problem is. Then, when we get Denerim sorted, we can start going further afield."

"It sounds like a good plan to me," Corin said approvingly. "Who knows, maybe I'll come out and help you at some point."

"_Not_ any time soon!" Anora informed him severely.

"I can see that I am going to have to prove my physical competence to you in the near future," the Crown Prince told his betrothed. "You know-that thing I spoke of earlier?"

Anora sighed. "I begin to have sympathy for Wynne and her dislike of griffons," she said. The Crown Prince chuckled.

A knock at the door sounded. Alistair rose and went to open it. There he found Teagan, carrying a folio under his arm, a slightly alarmed expression upon his face.

"In the name of the Maker, Eamon! What is going on here? Is there some reason I've been brought here under arrest?"


	45. Chapter 45

Thanks to trevorswim, FellowNrd, NonOnmisMoriar, Tsu Doh Nimh (x2!), Murlyndsgirl (x5-I enjoyed our talk!), karthik9, mille libri, xseikax, none, lazyguy90, spectre4hire, 17986, Melysande, Mike3207 and Rake 1810 for your kind words last chapter. I cherish my faithful readers and am always glad to see new faces!

You can thank a last-minute NaNo charge for this chapter. And I did it! Thanks to Corin and Crew I got my 50,000 words in !

* * *

><p>It took a few minutes to explain to Teagan that he was not, in fact, under arrest. Corin spread the contents of the folio out on his desk.<p>

"Is this all of it, Eamon?"

"It is, Your Royal Highness. My word on it."

"Very well then, Eamon," Anora said smoothly. "We thank you. You and Teagan are free to go." The arl and the bann left and Anora dismissed the guards with thanks. She closed the door after them and turned back to Alistair and Corin. Corin scooped the letters back into the folio, and handed it to Alistair.

"Go ahead. Take them and read them. You've the right to."

Alistair took the folio and gave his Warden brother a challenging look. "And what if by accident these found their way into a fireplace somewhere?"

Corin's eyebrow lifted. "I don't think that ultimately it would make much of a difference. Everyone knows that Eamon, Anora and I recognize your claim. They think of you as Alistair Theirin. But if you feel you must…"

"No, that's all right. I won't burn them."

"I'm about to retire for the evening," the Crown Prince said with a meaningful look at Anora. "So why don't you take those with you?"

"What about that business about keeping them in Crown hands?"

"When you're done with them, get Fergus to put them in the Cousland vault for you. There's a small one in the suite. Either of you can bring them back in the morning."

"That works. A good evening to you, Your Majesty, Corin."

"Good night, Alistair," the Queen said with a smile that could almost be construed as friendly.

* * *

><p>When Alistair had gone, Corin looked over at his wife-to-be and grinned. Cheeks slightly flushed, Anora said, "I assume we're to have that discussion about your…burgeoning…recovery now?"<p>

"Burgeoning…now there's an appropriate term for it," Corin mused. "You do have a way with words, my queen." Noting her unease, his brow furrowed in concern. "Are you truly feeling well enough, Anora? We don't have to, if you're feeling tired or ill. Is it safe for the baby? I'm pretty sure that Fergus and Oriana did it when she was pregnant, but perhaps all ladies aren't the same."

"I feel well enough, Corin. And I will point out to you that if we didn't have a mage on hand we would not even _know_ that I was pregnant yet. We'd merely be suspecting, and probably carrying on as usual."

The Crown Prince brightened. "There is that!" He moved around behind Anora and began to unpin her hair in that careful way of his. Feeling his warm fingers brushing her neck, the Queen shivered.

"This is one of my favorite parts, you know," he breathed beside her ear.

"We've done this _once_ before and you've got favorite parts already?"

"Oh, yes."

Gathering all the pins up in to one hand, Corin set them carefully on the bedside table. Then he undid her braids and combed through them gently with his fingers, burying his nose in the golden swathes at one point. Anora chuckled.

"Why do I think I could cut my hair, set it upon a mannequin, and you'd still have your perfect queen?"

Corin's hands slid between her body and arms and pulled her back against him. "Nonsense. My perfect queen has to have the _brain _under the golden hair." Those hands slid up to cup her breasts and Anora winced. Corin released them immediately.

"What's wrong?"

"They're rather tender of late. From the baby, I expect."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Hands off, then."

"I think that you can still touch them. Just be very gentle."

"Speaking of vulnerabilities, I'm afraid you're going to have to help me with this quite a bit."

Corin's lips were tracing up and down the side of Anora's neck in a way that made it difficult to concentrate, but she managed to ask, "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not sure I'm up to much of the old pelvic thrusting at present. You're going to have to be on top."

She melted back against him. "I thought we were going to do that after we married. I remember you describing that to me once."

"Oh. Yes. In the sunlight, with your hair all around. I remember too. And I still intend to do that. I intend to do a _lot_ of things with you, Anora," the last being said in that low growl that never failed to thrill her. In a more normal voice, he added, "But for now, the spirit is a lot more willing than the flesh is strong. Help me?"

"I would be happy to."

* * *

><p>Disrobing was more workaday than it had been in their previous encounter, given that they were both in day clothes. Corin patiently dealt with all the fiddly fastenings at the back of Anora's gown and her wrists, then slid the confining garment off of her with gentle care. She in turn stripped his shirt and doublet, then unbuttoned his breeches and slid them down those strong, well-muscled legs, along with his stockings. Fortunately, he was wearing house shoes rather than boots and for all that he had complained about losing his muscle tone, she could not discern much damage as of yet. She spent a little time while she was down there stroking up and down the length of those well-shaped legs, which elicited a pleased murmur from her betrothed.<p>

"Come up here," he commanded eventually. "You've still got too many clothes on." When she complied, he spent some time gently pulling her shift off of her shoulders, kissing and nibbling them and her neck. When her breasts were bared, he caressed them with just the lightest of feather touches, touches that caused Anora to gasp and her nipples to crinkle in response. "That's not too hard, is it?"

"No, that's very nice."

"Good. I'll remember that." Undoing her smalls, Corin slid them down to join the shift. Figuring that he could not bend to reach her stockings, Anora started to undo one of the garters, only to be stopped by his hand upon hers.

"Leave them on. You look hot that way." Blushing a little, she smiled at him from beneath her lashes and he grinned back.

"Time for bed." He was cautious, she noticed, about the way he got up onto the high mattress, and Anora clambered up rather inelegantly behind him, only to bounce once, puzzled, when she arrived.

"This feels different. Harder."

Corin was folding the coverlet back and settling back against his pillows. "I had to have it changed," he admitted. "That big, poufy feather tick was killing my back. So I used royal privilege and had them find a straw tick and a wool tick, with a thinner feather bed on top. And I made them put boards over the ropes. Does it bother you?"

Anora bounced a couple more times. "No. It's different, but rather nice. Definitely much more firm, but still soft enough. I think it will be fine."

"Good. I'm just going to lie back here and let you do what you want with me, if that's all right. I'll hold up my end as best I can, but like I said, I really need your help in this." He stretched his arms over his head in one of those gingerly stretches and then left them there when he relaxed. The sight of him, supine and vulnerable, caused a sudden flush of warmth in Anora's nether regions. The damnable boy seemed to know this somehow and chuckled.

"Like what you see?"

"Brat." Anora scooted to his side, reaching out to stroke Corin's chest a bit tentatively. Cailan had always taken the upper hand in their encounters. She did not know if he had given his other lovers this sort of control, but he never had with her, perhaps because he felt himself so dominated in the other parts of their relationship.

Given leave to do as she pleased, Anora bent over and suckled at one of Corin's nipples. He groaned.

"Nice!"

Encouraged, she began to work upon both of them with tongue and lips and teeth until they peaked as much as they could, while her hands stroked his chest and taut stomach. One slipped lower and closed about his length, already beginning to firm and feeling much warmer than the rest of him. Corin bucked beneath her when she did so. Stroking him a few times, she then released him to explore that area more closely, caressing the oddly silky black fur upon his balls, then sliding two fingers back to trace behind them. That won her a gasp and another buck.

One of Corin's large, warm hands was now tracing gently over her back and sides and neck, brushing ever-so-carefully against her tender breasts. It was pleasant, but not overly distracting. Anora's hands roamed his body between knees and neck for a time, exploring every dip and crevice. She watched as he became fully erect and wondered if she dared…

Before she could lose her nerve, her head dipped and she took a swipe up the length of him with her tongue. The taste, though slightly musky, was not unpleasant, and Corin's shocked gasp was very satisfying.

"Oh, you wonder, you!"

She ventured a few more licks, and even sucked the tip into her mouth before she lost her nerve. Looking up, she saw that Corin's eyes had darkened to deep blue.

"_That_ deserves a reward," he declared. "I know that you never wanted to do that. Come up here and straddle my head. Hold onto the headboard."

She did as he directed, suspected she knew what he had in mind and was beginning to clench at the very thought of it. It was a somewhat embarrassing position to be in, her thighs splayed to either side of Corin, knees sunk into the pillows, gripping the headboard for dear life. But then, most of sex was embarrassing and ridiculous as far as Anora was concerned. And suddenly, that didn't seem to matter, as his hands gripped her hips and brought her sex down to his lips.

His tongue swiped her end to end and she cried out, arching. And kept crying out as he sucked and probed and licked until the fire built in her belly as it had before. The sensation was almost too much to take, but there was no escaping the strong grasp of his hands no matter how she jerked and before long, Anora was keening as she climaxed.

"Sweet Lady, save us!" she gasped, hanging onto the headboard for a moment, until the stars left her vision. Corin chuckled.

"It's a good thing we both like that."

She lifted her leg and slid to the side, then down beside him on the bed. Seeing his face still wet with her juices, she tutted and pulled up the hem of the sheet to wipe it.

"You are entirely too full of yourself," she chided.

"_One _part of me, at least," he agreed with a plaintive look. "Do you think you could do something about that?"

She looked down at his erection, swollen and angry-looking, and nodded. Then moved to straddle him once more, lower down this time. An idea occurred to her then and rather than taking him into her immediately, she lowered herself until her wet crotch was pressing the length of him flat against his belly and began to move back and forth, rubbing against it.

Corin's body arched up against hers, he threw his head back and groaned. "Wicked, Anora!" But there was nothing but approval in his voice. When he began to relax once more, she decided that it was time, reached down and placed him at her entrance. Then she began to settle herself carefully down upon him.

She'd never done it in quite this way before. The change in position made things feel different-not unpleasant, just different. And the fact that she was the one who was determining how deep she should take him gave her confidence, in this endeavor where she usually had little. Anora leaned forward, grasping his hands and pressing them against the sheets, pushing back until he was well seated in her and began to move, slowly at first as she got the feel of things.

Her betrothed's eyes were closed, his brow furrowed with that look of intense, almost angry concentration he got while in the throes of passion. Anora's rocking became harder, faster and his fingers clenched almost painfully within hers. He was totally in her control and that realization sent a resurgence of heat through her.

_You are __**mine**__ now, not hers! She gave you up, but I __**never **__will! And if that means I have to learn every whore's trick in the book to keep you, then so be it! You belong to __**me**__!_

She was actually _slamming _down now, but Corin did not seem to be pained by it. He was gasping and moaning. Suddenly he cried out and she felt the heat of his seed inside her. That brought her over the edge with him for a second time with a cry of her own.

Totally spent, she slumped down onto his chest with him still up inside of her. The sensation of still being connected was oddly pleasing. Dimly, she felt his hands pull the coverlets up over them both. Then they came to rest upon her back, stroking soothingly.

She cracked an eye open, to find a pair of sleepy blue ones looking fondly at her.

"I said it before and I'll say it again. Cailan was an idiot. You were _marvelous_." Corin yawned.

She was feeling marvelous, as it turned out, boneless and limp and totally at peace.

"You can tie me up sometime, if you'd like," her betrothed remarked.

"_What_?" The sense of peace vanished.

"I said, you can tie me up sometime, if you'd like. And don't tell me that you wouldn't." Corin's hands left her back to extend above his head once more, wrists crossed together as if bound. Anora felt her cheeks flush furiously, and an echo of earlier arousal ghosted through her.

"See what I mean?"

Dismayed at her response, she asked, "Is that…do _normal _people do that?"

"Of course they do. Normal people do all sorts of things. When all is said and done, sex is play-time for adults. I'd certainly like to tie _you_ up. Only if you'd let me, of course." His hand came back down to pull her head down to his for a kiss.

"We've got time now, Anora. Time enough to try everything you want."

* * *

><p>Alistair was not sure what he was expecting from the letters. Some sign of affection, some indication of regret that Alistair could not be more fully part of the family? But they were remarkably business-like, at least from Eamon's and Cailan's end. Maric's words expressed some concern, if it was only about the adequacy of Alistair's education. In the end, there was nothing for him within the letters, even as there had been nothing for him at Goldanna's house. Though the fact that she was not really his sister was the one bright spot in the whole business.<p>

He read through all of the letters twice, just to make sure that the first reading had not been colored by overmuch expectation on his part, but a second perusal led to the same conclusion that the first one had. Slipping them back into the folio with a muted feeling of discontent, he went out into the sitting room to look for Fergus, but found the Teyrn in the library, reading, with a glass at his hand. He gave Alistair a smile.

"Alistair? What can I do for you?"

Alistair thrust the folio forward abruptly. "Corin said that there was a lockbox here in the suite, and asked if you'd secure this until tomorrow."

Fergus laid down his book and took the folio. "What is this, if I may ask?"

"Eamon's and Cailan's and Maric's letters about me. The proof about my Theirin blood. Corin and Anora made Eamon cough them up tonight."

Fergus' eyes widened slightly. "Oh. I see." He gestured over to the sideboard. "You know where the drinks are. Help yourself while I put this away." He left the room. Alistair poured himself a couple of fingers of Starkhaven whiskey, rather astonished that anything alcoholic was still available in a suite that housed Oghren. But Corin had made a point of keeping the dwarf well-supplied-and apparently had set some boundaries. It was possible to do that with Oghren if he respected you.

The Teyrn reappeared some minutes later and settled back into his former chair.

"Have a seat, if you like, Alistair. I don't mind. That book wasn't all that interesting."

Alistair pulled up another of the large, comfortable stuffed chairs. Fergus took up his own glass and turned it between callused, scarred, swordsman's fingers.

"From the look on your face, the letters weren't what you expected."

"Yes, and no. I guess I was _hoping_ there would be some sign of affection, but I didn't really _expect_ it. If that makes any sense."

"Perfect sense. You've been brought up your entire life to have no expectations, after all." Fergus took a sip of his whiskey. "Do you know what I admire most about you, Alistair?" He smiled at the young Warden's disbelieving look.

"I admire that, despite the fact that you've never been given a moment's consideration or true affection by any of the people responsible for your upbringing (and I do _not _consider how Eamon treated you affection), you are still capable of love. You're still willing to put your heart out there on the line. And that's special. A lot of people who'd gone through what you have wouldn't be able to do that." Another sip of the whiskey.

"Of course, the fact that you're a good enough warrior to kick Teyrn Loghain's ass doesn't hurt either."

A slight huff of pleased laughter escaped Alistair. "Corin told me once that he wished I'd been fostered at Highever with all of you Couslands. I wish I had been too. I envy what you had."

Fergus shrugged. "And if you had, you might have been dead with the rest of them." He started turning the glass once more. "I'm not looking forward to going back there, I must admit. Though I daresay Rikard is doing everything he can to tidy up before I get there."

"Would you like me to come with you? Is Corin coming?"

"I suspect he will, if I wait until he's well enough to travel. It's more than kind of you to offer. And you'd certainly be welcome too, if you've not got Warden things to attend to." He gave Alistair a direct look then. "It's at least in part due to you that I still have a brother, Alistair. And he's your Warden brother, which sort of makes me your…Warden brother-in-law? Something like that? Anyway, as far as I'm concerned, you're family. In case you hadn't figured that out already."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. It's how we Couslands do things."

* * *

><p>Alistair spent a little more time with Fergus after that, chatting about the restoration that was going on, and what had been covered at the recent Council meetings. He'd felt remarkably at ease with Corin's older brother almost from the first. Though the dynamic between himself and Fergus was different from that between himself and Corin. Fergus, because of his greater years, had a bit more of an elder statesman thing happening, whereas Alistair and Corin met more as equals. But the teyrn was anything but stuffy, and there was an intelligence keen as Corin's beneath that scruffy exterior.<p>

Upon leaving Fergus, Alistair found himself at a bit of loose ends. He wasn't tired enough to sleep yet, and he'd already checked and determined that Leli had gone off to the Chantry for some sort of evening devotional service involving music. He wandered the halls of the palace for a while, until the desire for some fresh air took him up on the battlements. It was a pleasant evening, though a bit chilly. The moon was well up and the stars shone clearly in the sky. He'd gone half way around when he saw a small, cloaked figure seated between the merlons, dangling feet over the edge.

As he had once before, he made his tread heavier, so as not to startle. Nerissa Surana's head swiveled around.

"Oh. Hi there, Warden Theirin."

"What happened to 'Hardbody', Mistress Death From Above?"

It was difficult to tell in the moonlight, but Alistair thought that she might actually be blushing.

"The First Enchanter happened. Gave me a big lecture upon upholding the dignity of my new rank. Actually, Irving's given me several lectures. So since he used to be my mentor and I'm actually rather fond of the Boss, I'm trying to do as he asked."

"That seems a shame. I think there are enough people overly worried about their dignity in Denerim already." He watched as she pushed away from the edge and rolled to her feet, a bit awkward in the voluminous robes and cloak. "By the way, what _is_ it with you and dangling your feet over the edges of tall buildings? Have you got a death wish or something?"

"No. Heights don't bother me. I find it relaxing. The wind blows around my feet and I can close my eyes and pretend I'm flying. Weird, I know."

"Did you do that at Kinloch?"

"No. They don't let mages onto the roof at Kinloch. For obvious reasons."

"Those being?"

"Because sometimes they want to jump off of it."

"Oh." Silence fell for a long moment. Nerissa Surana broke it, with an uncomfortable clearing of her throat.

"Warden Theirin, I owe you an apology."

"For what?" Alistair asked curiously. Yes, that was definitely a blush, discernable even by moonlight.

"When you were nice enough to look after me, after the battle…I seem to remember grabbing your ass at one point."

"You _remember_ that? I'm astonished."

The little elf groaned. "So I _did _do it!"

"You didn't _grab_. You _patted_. It was very gentle. My ass survived the experience just fine."

"Even so…I am sorry."

"No apologies necessary. You were hardly yourself at the time."

"Irving said that was what you'd say. Thank you. Just so you know-I'm really not the Circle-slut you might think, given my behavior with you."

"'Circle-slut'?"

"You know-those mage-girls who like to notch their staffs for each of their conquests?"

Alistair suddenly found himself grinning, his earlier malaise dissipated. "But you have a _new_ staff now, Nerissa. How would I know if the old one had notches or not?"

"Very funny, Warden Theirin!"

"Hey! Comrades-in-arms, remember? _You_ insisted. It's Alistair."

"All right then. Alistair." In what was obviously an effort to both change the subject and make polite conversation, Nerissa asked, "So-how is your Wardening coming along?"

"My 'Wardening' is doing just fine. Speaking of which…I was wondering. How would you feel about working as a liason to the Wardens? I find myself missing Morrigan's firepower, though I'm glad I'll never have to admit it to her."

"You want _me_ to…fight with the Wardens?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to invoke the Right of Conscription?"

"No."

"Why not? Aren't I good enough?" Her brows drew down and she scowled.

"You're more than good enough. But there are things about being a Warden that aren't so good, things I can't really discuss with anyone who isn't a Warden. Things I'd rather you never had to deal with. So no, I won't Conscript you unless you get Tainted while working with us. Which is a possibility, so you ought to consider it before you give me an answer. A Thaw Hunt is dangerous work. The idea is to kill as many of the straggler darkspawn before they can get back underground. So there are hopefully fewer to breed up for the next Blight."

"I don't have to think about it. I'm in."

"Nerissa, you really should take some time to consider…"

"No. I don't need to. I'm a _battle-mage_! It's what I do, what I trained my whole life to do. I've gotten exactly _two_ opportunities in my life thus far to use my magic the way it was intended to be used. If I work with the Wardens, I'll get many more. And it beats Firestorming farmland all hollow, though I'll admit that has to be done. But it can be done by the Primals who don't have the balls to work their spells in battle, and we do have a few of those. I'm your girl, Hardbody!"

"All right then. How do we go about this?"

"You need to talk to Irving, of course, get custody of me officially handed over to the Wardens. Which, by the way, makes your Order responsible if I suddenly turn into an abomination and wreak havoc over the countryside."

"Were you _planning_ on turning into an abomination?"

Nerissa snorted. "As if! Demons are so _tacky_!"

"Very well then. I'll make an appointment with Irving tomorrow."

"Why not tonight? It's not that late and Boss is an old guy and doesn't sleep much anyway."

"If you're sure-I don't want to offend him and maybe lose the chance of getting you."

"And I don't want to lose it either! Let's go!" She grabbed his elbow and tugged him towards the stairs.

* * *

><p>The mages had been assigned a couple of adjoining suites belonging to nobles who'd perished in the Blight. Extra beds had been brought in, but even so it was still more luxurious than the living conditions in the Tower. None of the normal folk were complaining, however-the healers, in particular, had been greatly appreciated. There were too many families now who owed a relative's life to the ministrations of a mage.<p>

Templars were stationed upon the entrances to the suites, and among the rooms where the apprentices, journeymen and Enchanters were staying. Kinloch had been emptied to answer Ferelden's need. Only a few mages too old to travel and the recalcitrant Anders had been left behind.

"The Warden-Commander of Ferelden to see the First Enchanter," Nerissa declared as they approached, and the Templar sentries saluted and let them pass.

"Warden," they intoned respectfully, inclining their heads.

Nerissa led Alistair through a sitting room to another door, and knocked upon it.

"Boss, you in?"

"Yes, Nerissa, of course," came Irving's placid voice from the other side of the door. Nerissa pushed it open.

The room had obviously been the suite's library. The original books were still all there, as well as a couple of tables that held those magical additions the First Enchanter had deemed useful enough to risk bringing along. He was seated at his desk with tea to hand. Sharing said tea was Knight-Commander Greagoir.

"Well, _shit_!" Nerissa Surana said.

* * *

><p>What followed was one of the more frustrating half hours of Alistair's life. He began to finally, fully understand the extent of the captivity even mages of higher rank endured. While Irving seemed willing enough to release Nerissa, agreeing that what Alistair proposed was probably the best use of her talents, Gregoir resisted, coming up with one objection after the other.<p>

"Surana has always been too powerful, too uncontrolled!"

"I am _not _uncontrolled!" Nerissa protested. "My spells go just where I want them to!"

"I was referring to _emotional_ control, which you have given ample proof of a lack of over the years," sniffed the Templar commander. "I agreed to let you elevate her, Irving, because I couldn't argue that she met the _magical_ criteria to be Senior Enchanter. But I have serious doubts about her _mental_ stability, and I won't be responsible for letting her lose to gallivant all over the countryside, blowing up things hither and yon!"

"Nerissa is either a Senior Enchanter, with the rights and responsibilities of that rank, or she is not, Gregoir," Irving said mildly, though there was a look in his eye that might have denoted irritation. "You agreed to her elevation, so it's a bit late to be coming up with gradations of rank and privilege in an effort to control her after the fact."

"The disposition of _any_ mage, _regardless_ of rank, is the right of the Knight-Commander."

"Look, Knight-Commander, I'd only be blowing the things up that Warden Theirin wanted blown up," Nerissa growled. "I'd be blowing up _darkspawn_! Surely you don't have a problem with that! And the darkspawn might _kill_ me, which possibility _must_ be appealing to you!"

"Appealing though it may be, I have a responsibility to the people of Thedas to uphold," Gregoir intoned sanctimoniously. "And that responsibility precludes letting you run amok as you would like."

"The Senior Enchanter would be under my direct supervision," Alistair noted, keeping a firm rein on his temper.

"You're a Warden!" scoffed Gregoir. "I don't that doubt you're a man of rare ability, Warden-Commander Theirin, but fighting darkspawn and controlling mages are two different things."

"I don't know if you're aware of it or not, Knight-Commander, but I had Templar training before I became a Warden."

"Having some of the training does not qualify you to have charge of such a dangerous mage as Surana."

"_All _of the training, Knight-Commander. I was about to take final vows when I was conscripted. And I am not unfamiliar with combating hostile mages."

Gregoir's eyes narrowed. "You were not among the companions the Prince took into the Tower."

"No, I wasn't. I was referring to emissaries. Darkspawn mages."

"Such creatures could not possibly be as puissant as a trained Circle mage."

"You'd be surprised."

"Even so, Surana is an exceptionally powerful mage. Without lyrium, there would be no way you could control her."

Alistair's temper snapped, for he could tell that the Knight-Commander was prepared to be obstructionist until his opponent was worn down by weariness, if the superiority of the Templar's arguments did not suffice.

"First Enchanter, Senior Enchanter, I apologize in advance."

Whereupon Alistair did what he'd wanted to do since Gregoir started in with his objections. Had wanted to do, now that he reflected upon it, since Kinloch. Getting to his feet, he gathered all of his strength. The blue aura flared as he nullified all of the magic in the immediate area, then lashed out at the Knight-Commander with the strongest Holy Smite he could manage.

Nerissa dropped to the floor with a muted cry. Irving fell forward, almost into his teacup. The Knight-Commander fell backward in his chair with a very satisfying thud. Silence fell over the room, broken only by the soft moans of the mages. Alistair looked down at Gregoir with a lifted brow. He'd just taken down two of Ferelden's most powerful mages without even breaking a sweat.

"I _told_ you that I could handle Surana, Knight-Commander. Perhaps now you believe me?"


	46. Chapter 46

Sorry about the long delay for this. Holidays were obviously a factor, as is the fact that my LOTR muse has returned. I'll probably be trying to update some stories in that fandom in the next little bit, so I might not be updating Corin quite so quickly as I have in the past, though I'll try to keep some momentum going.

Thanks to Blighted 114, acedude, MetalSpawn, VGGirl95, DragonRebornaMoL, LivewithHonour, Advent of Shadows, Ronin Kenshin, Rikard Gadell (Yes, you're right! I'm math challenged!), Robbie the Phoenix, The-Demon-of-Soul-Society, NIX'S WARDEN, mille libri, Sayle, xseikax, lazyguy90, Nargil, Rake1810, spectre4hire, SuperGravyMan, DarthCruciere, thecelticspirit, realitydeviant, none, Genericrandom, Mike3207 and Suilven for comments and criticism of the last chapter. Note to self-smut=reviews!

RakeeshJ4-you made some valid points. This chapter hopefully addresses some of them.

* * *

><p>"<em>You're<em> the one the Grand Cleric was so upset about losing!" Gregoir managed to say when the Smite began to wear off.

Alistair, helping Nerissa back to her feet, shrugged and said, "I guess. I always thought that she was just angry at having to give me to the Wardens after spending all that time and money on my training."

Gregoir gave him a disbelieving look. "You mean you don't _know_?"

"Know what?"

"There are very few Templars who have the strength to do what you just did without lyrium," the Knight-Commander said. "When they're discovered, the Grand Cleric in their jurisdiction has standing orders to send them to Val Royeaux for Seeker training. You'd have been a big feather in her cap. _That's _why she was upset!"

"Oh." Alistair pondered this for a moment. _She was upset not because the Wardens took me, but because I was really __**good **__at Templar stuff? _"Wow."

Irving took up his napkin, wiped his face and mopped up some spilled tea. "Quite the demonstration, Warden."

Alistair had the grace to look abashed. "Sorry, First Enchanter."

"So you said. So you said. So, Gregoir-do you feel more confident about Warden Theirin's proposal now?"

Gregoir rubbed his brow. He'd gotten back up, righted his chair and seated himself once more. "I will admit, the prospect of a Circle without Surana in it does seem…restful and rather appealing."

Nerissa, who had plopped into a nearby chair, frowned, wrinkling her nose at him, but was apparently still too undone to do any more.

"And it is technically still to do with the Blight, which we are bound to aid in any event," the Knight-Commander mused. "All right, Irving. Go ahead and draw up the agreement when you're feeling better."

"I'm well enough," the First Enchanter assured him. "I'll do that right now." With a resiliency that was amazing for someone of his advanced years, he drew out pen and paper and ink, scooted over to find a dry spot on the desk and began writing. His handwriting was a little shaky for the first few lines, but then it firmed up. Gregoir helped himself to more tea as he watched. Nerissa just slumped in her chair, still looking a bit out of things.

It didn't take all that long to scribe out, all things considered. Alistair read it over when Irving was done. The agreement basically contracted out the services of Nerissa Surana, Senior Enchanter, to the Ferelden Grey Wardens for a period of up to ten years, to assist in dealing with the aftermath of the Blight. The Grey Wardens were responsible for her proper supervision and her good conduct during that time, as well as being liable for any damages she might cause while under their supervision. In the event of her death, the Circle was to be immediately notified and if possible, her remains returned to them for proper disposal. It was very straightforward and Alistair felt confident enough signing it without consulting anyone else.

It felt odd doing that though, writing his name and the descriptor "Commander of the Grey, Ferelden" beneath it for the very first time. Very official, and he almost fancied he felt Duncan's ghost smiling at his shoulder. He handed it back to Irving, who signed it along with Gregoir, and they sealed it with the Kinloch seal.

"I'll have a copy scribed for you tomorrow, Warden-Commander," Irving said with a smile. "And I'll have someone send it to you. Where might you be found?"

"In the Cousland suite, sir. Any of the palace servants know where that is."

"Very well then. Why don't you take Nerissa along with you, get her settled in for the night."

"Uh, sure. Do you need to get your things, Nerissa?"

Nerissa nodded, and got up. "I'll just be a moment, Warden," she muttered, oddly unenthusiastic, and left the room. Her subdued demeanor seemed to both surprise and please Gregoir.

While they waited, Alistair chatted with Irving and Gregoir about the repairs that had been done to the Circle thus far, and the progress that had been made in the two mens' absence. Letters had come to both Irving and Gregoir and though there were few enough people currently in Kinloch to do much, they were trying to proceed with restoring the tower to normalcy.

When Nerissa returned, she had small sack slung over her shoulder and to Alistair's astonishment, Spellweaver was belted around her waist. _Where and when did she get __**that**__?_

"I'm ready, Warden."

"Very well then. I guess we'll be going," Alistair said heartily, still puzzled at her mood. He wished the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander a good evening, and headed for the door.

"Nerissa," the First Enchanter called after them. The little Senior Enchanter paused to look back at him.

"You've already made me prouder than I can say. I feel confident that you will continue to do so."

A ghost of her usual grin came over her face. "Thanks, Boss." She nodded once, then turned to follow Alistair.

* * *

><p>Who was rather worried. He'd expected Nerissa to be happy, not subdued and sad. This quenched-looking little elf was not the Nerissa Surana he knew. She even dropped back to his heel, like some sort of obedient dog. <em>Do the Templars in the Tower insist on that?<em> he wondered.

He was beginning to be familiar with some of the shortcuts in the Palace by now and was taking one of them, a deserted hallway through some unoccupied nobles' quarters, when he heard her voice behind him.

"Warden Theirin, I _don't_ apologize in advance!" The next thing he knew, there was a crackle of ice and he was frozen solid.

* * *

><p>Nerissa walked around to the front of him, and the subdued, quenched elf was gone. Her green-hazel eyes were blazing with anger, and she went up on her tip-toes, inches from his frozen nose, staff in hand.<p>

"Not so easy to take a mage down if she knows you're coming, is it, Hardbody? One good Stonefist at this range and you'd be in pieces. And there wouldn't be a damn thing you could do about it." She hefted her darkspawn staff menacingly and if Alistair could have flinched, he would have. Despite the antipathy he and Morrigan had felt for each other, _she'd_ never turned her magic against him. _Of course, you never leveled a Holy Smite on Morrigan either, _his conscience unhelpfully informed him. _You only do that to mages you __**like**__._

"I really don't think you did that just to prove what a tough guy you are," Nerissa was saying. "I _think_ that you thought you were helping me. And I think that you thought that Gregoir wasn't going to listen, and you needed to get his attention. Maybe it's true that he wasn't going to listen. But I'm only going to tell you this once. Smiting me is one thing. But _so help me_, if you ever pull anything like that on the _Boss_ again, I swear by your stupid Andraste that I'll _fry_ you if I can! Do you understand me? You can give a mage his age a _heart attack_ Smiting him that hard!"

She waited, glaring, until he defrosted. Shivering, Alistair shook himself and nodded.

"I'm sorry. You're right. I wasn't thinking." _Wasn't remembering that mages aren't allowed children, they're not allowed family, that their mentors are often the closest thing to a parent they ever get. Smooth move, Alistair. You just smacked Nerissa's __**father**__ around!_

"I'll say!" Nerissa's gaze was still challenging. "Ready to tear that contract up and send me back?"

"Not just yet. I think I _need_ someone who'll tell me when I'm being an idiot."

"Just so you know, I'm not done with you yet. I'm going to tell _Wynne_ what you did when we get back to quarters. I want her to look at Irving."

"Maker, but you're a little brute!"

Alistair's newly-contracted mage liaison snorted. "You don't know the half of it yet."

They started walking again, in silence for a few moments, while Alistair pondered his failings as a commander. Eventually, he heard a quiet mutter from Nerissa.

"Not that it wasn't _worth_ it, seeing Gregoir knocked on his ass. The Boss probably thought so too."

* * *

><p>Wynne's reaction was every bit as astonished, reproachful and reproving as Alistair expected. "Really, Alistair! <em>Smiting<em> the First Enchanter! How could you!"

"I was actually Smiting the Knight-Commander. The First Enchanter and Nerissa just got caught in the area."

"Because that makes it _so_ much better!" Wynne said, putting her knitting away into its bag. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I do believe you're right, Surana. Someone had best check Irving over. Perhaps even Gregoir as well, if he will permit it. Alistair, that was hardly behavior worthy of a Grey Warden."

"Oh, I don't know," Nerissa said, apparently being contrary just to tweak her fellow Senior Enchanter. "It got him a kick-butt Primal to torch darkspawn with. Seems Wardenly enough to me."

"What you know about Wardens would fill a thimble, Nerissa," Wynne huffed tartly. "I'd best be off immediately." She hastened to her room to get her bag, and hurried out of the suite.

"'What you know about Wardens would fill a thimble, Nerissa!'" Surana echoed mockingly when she had gone. Her eyes rolled. "I do hope Irving and Gregoir manage to survive until Wynne comes to succor them with her incomparable bedside manner."

Alistair bit back a laugh and she looked up at him, her manner softening a bit. "Where am I bunking, Hardbody?"

"The Couslands have a big suite. Some of us are using the servants' rooms. You don't mind that, do you? You'd have a room of your own, even if it's not very big. I'll put you next to Cauthrien."

'That will be just fine. I don't take up too much space."

Alistair ran his hand through his hair. "Yeah. About that. If there are things you need, Nerissa-extra clothes, anything like that-then please let me know. It's my job to see that you're properly equipped."

"All right."

"Speaking of which. You're going to _have_ to work with Wynne for a bit."

Alistair found himself the recipient of a narrow-eyed stare. "Why?"

"Because she and Corin are the only two people we have who know that Arcane Warrior stuff. And Corin's busy with other things. And I want you in _armor_, not robes."

Nerissa groaned. "All right, all right. I _really_ want to learn that! And I'm sure that Wynne would love the opportunity to 'instruct' me on any number of things. But _you're_ the one who's being the brute now!"

"Do you know how to ride a horse?"

"Are you kidding?"

"We'll need to find you someone to teach you that as well. Maybe I can convince Cauthrien to do it."

"Really? That's _excellent_! But I'll need some riding clothes…"

"I'll ask Leli if she'll help with that."

The little elf looked dubious. "Chantry Girl?"

"Trust me. Anything to do with shopping or clothes, you want Leliana."

"If you say so…but I didn't think there was much shopping going on in Denerim at present."

"She and Zevran are good at all sorts of …acquisitions."

"Ah. Got it."

"And I might see if Zev would teach you some basic hand-to-hand. His style of fighting is probably much better suited to you than mine is."

"And who is going to defend me from _Zevran's _hands?"

"Noticed that, did you? You've got my permission to freeze, fry or petrify him as necessary."

"Fair enough."

"But I think Corin's rather fond of him for some inexplicable reason, so you might not want to do anything _too_ permanent."

"Damn. And here I'd been working on that targeted Petrify spell! The one that lets you shatter an enemy's bollocks right off." At Alistair's wide-eyed look, she grinned. "Just kidding, Hardbody!"

"Good to know…" Her new commander shook himself. "Okay. Ground rules about the suite. We moved in here after the Landsmeet because Corin wanted to be closer to Anora, and because we thought Lord Fergus was dead, so it was Corin's suite as Teyrn. But neither Lord Fergus or Lady Eleanor is dead, so Fergus has taken the master bedroom back and Lady Eleanor the dower suite. So be polite if you see them, because they're being nice enough to let us stay." Nerissa nodded.

"Needless to say, we clean up after ourselves," Alistair continued. "We can use the parlor and library if we like, but if either of them come in and ask for privacy, you should clear out. And if they want the bathing chambers, the same thing applies."

"Understood."

"If you want to take a book back to your room to read, that's okay-they've already said so. But don't take it out of the suite."

"I know how to take care of books, believe you me." Since Leorah wasn't around to describe how she'd desecrated the map books in Kinloch, Nerissa felt safe enough making the claim.

"All right then. Let's go to the library and see if the Teyrn or Teyrna are in. I should introduce you."

Teyrn Fergus was out and about, but Teyrna Eleanor was in the library, sitting at a table near a lamp, setting careful stitches into what looked to be a man's shirt. She looked up at Alistair's knock and smiled.

"Come in, Alistair dear. Who is this?"

"I thought I'd better introduce you, my lady. Teyrna Eleanor Cousland, this is Senior Enchanter Nerissa Surana. She's just been contracted over to the Grey Wardens by the Circle, to help us with the end of the Blight, so she'll be staying with us now, if that's all right with you."

"And why would it not be?" Lady Eleanor set her sewing down and extended her hands. "Come here, Senior Enchanter."

Nerissa approached cautiously and allowed her own hands to be taken.

"My son has spoken to me of your fighting skills. I'm so very glad you were with him! And I'm very glad to have the chance to meet you at last."

Lady Eleanor was very disarming. It was difficult to believe that she was one of the highest nobles in the land. Her manner was sincere, and she wasn't afraid to touch a mage. Despite her reservations, Nerissa found herself melting a little bit.

"You are very kind, my lady."

The teyrna was shaking her head in wonder. She released Nerissa's hands. "Corin told me you were a tiny girl. He certainly wasn't exaggerating! Is there anything you need, Senior Enchanter? We have some stores here-mostly plain clothes, but of good quality. Some could be cut down to fit you. Wardening is dirty work, from what I hear."

"Warden Theirin would know more about that than I do, to be honest, my lady," Nerissa said, with an imploring look at him.

"We were just talking about some riding clothes, Lady Eleanor," Alistair put in. "And some things appropriate for wearing under armor. If you have anything like that, it would be great."

"We don't have any gambesons that would fit her. Oren…he'd not started arms training yet, though he was longing to do so. Not that she's quite _that _small." Her face darkened for a moment at the mention of her dead grandson, but it cleared once more. Her tone was brisk as she continued. "But there are some smallish breeches and shirts we can look at, as well as some stockings. We'll set you up, Senior Enchanter, never you fear. Do you have anything to wear for the wedding yet?"

"I…didn't know I was invited."

"One of my son's _companions_ not invited? Don't be silly." Her kind tone took the sting of the words away.

"I…suppose I should wear my mage robes. Unless there's something Warden-y I should wear instead."

Alistair's brow furrowed. "Actually, that's a good point, Nerissa. I need your advice upon something, Lady Eleanor."

"How may I help, Alistair?"

"Nerissa's going to learn to go about in armor, so she'll be better protected when we fight. But I don't want Templars smiting her if they see her with her staff and not in proper Circle robes. Any ideas?"

"She needs a tabard with Warden arms to wear when she's in armor," the Cousland matriarch said promptly. "If she's in your livery, there will be fewer challenges. Everyone knows the Wardens have mages of their own."

"Oh. All right. That does sound like a good idea…" Alistair trailed off, wondering if Leliana could help with the commissioning of such a thing. Lady Eleanor smiled knowingly.

"I do have a lady or two back with me now, Alistair. And we have to measure the Senior Enchanter in any event. I'll see to it."

"Thank you, my lady."

"And we'll see about getting you a pretty gown as well, Nerissa. Every girl should have at least one pretty dress."

Nerissa found herself dipping a curtsey. "Thank you, my lady." She looked at the needlework in Eleanor's hands. "What are you making?"

Eleanor smiled. "Corin's wedding shirt. Would you like to see?" Nerissa nodded, and the teyrna held the mass of fine lawn up closer to her. Eleanor was working upon what looked to be the front of the neck, the facings. There was a white-on-white pattern of griffons within Cousland laurel wreaths, interspersed with the Ferelden royal arms. It was fine work, and very ornate.

"That is lovely," Nerissa said sincerely. "Though I don't see how you see to do it. I'd go cross-eyed!"

The teyrna indicated the lamp, set close beside her. "I can only work on the embroidery a bit at a time, at least at night. It's easier in daylight. My eyes aren't what they used to be, but I did want to make him something for the day. Though I'd better hurry it up-they're talking about doing it in the next month, before the weather gets truly wretched." She gave Alistair an inquiring look.

"Is there anything else you need, dear?"

"No, my lady. Thank you for allowing us to bother you."

"It was no bother at all. A good evening to you both." Alistair bowed, Nerissa tried another curtsey, then they left the library.

* * *

><p>"The Prince doesn't look like Lady Eleanor at all," Nerissa noted, when they were back in the parlor once more.<p>

"No, but he's very much like her in other ways," came Alistair's response.

The door to the hall outside opened, and Leliana came in. Smiling, she sauntered up to Alistair, twined her arms about his neck and laid a slow and leisurely kiss upon his lips. Aware of Nerissa's scrutiny, the Warden-Commander found himself blushing. "How was the Chantry?" he asked when she broke the kiss.

"The singing is always beautiful for me," the bard answered. "I'm feeling quite…exalted… right now."

"Uh…that's nice."

Leliana detached herself from Alistair, looked over at Nerissa and smiled.

"Hello, Senior Enchanter! What brings you here?"

"The Warden-Commander. I'm contracted to the Grey Wardens for the next ten years." To her own ears, Nerissa's tone was a little flat. But Leliana didn't seem to notice anything amiss.

"That is excellent! I'm sure you'll be a big help to Alistair."

"Thank you. Are the two of you…"

Leliana's cinnamon eyebrow rose. "Together? Us? No, nothing permanent. We're not betrothed or anything. Alistair is a dear friend." She smiled knowingly. "With benefits, of course. Rather _big _benefits, actually."

Taking a moment to work that out, Nerissa found herself blushing. Looking over at Alistair, his face was absolutely crimson. The bard seemed amused.

"I'll be in my room, Alistair. I'm sure you need to settle Nerissa in. You know, Nerissa, if you'd like to join us sometime, you'd be welcome, at least as far as I'm concerned. And I doubt Alistair would object over much." Seeing the two flabbergasted expressions before her, the bard giggled.

"Your faces! It's so _sweet_! Later, Alistair." She sauntered off, an obviously inviting sway to her hips.

"Um. Yes. Well," Alistair said when she had gone. "Let's get you situated. I imagine you're pretty tired." Nerissa nodded.

The servant rooms were on a corridor behind the family rooms, which connected to them by a door in the parlor. Alistair had just opened the door to Nerissa's new room, when the door to the room next door opened and Cauthrien stepped out.

"Commander. Senior Enchanter. What are you doing here?" she asked, her saturnine face curious.

"I contracted the Senior Enchanter to work with us during the Thaw Hunt," Alistair replied.

"Are you Conscripting her?"

"Not unless it becomes necessary," came his response. "It's a contract with the Circle. The First Enchanter was very helpful." Cauthrien nodded her comprehension, then extended her hand to Nerissa with a smile. Her grip was very strong, though she wasn't trying to hurt Nerissa, and the elf could actually feel the sword calluses on her large hand.

"Glad to have you, Senior Enchanter! Thank you for being willing to help us. I'm sure you'll be a great asset to the Wardens."

"I'm certainly going to try, Ser Cauthrien." Nerissa declared with a smile, responding to Cauthrien's obvious good will.

"I heard Leliana come in a moment ago," Loghain's former right hand said, with a meaningful look at her commander. "Why don't you let me settle the Senior Enchanter in?"

Alistair nodded, his blush returning. "Thanks, Cauthrien. That's very kind of you. And the two of you ought to get better acquainted anyway." He looked down at the small mage and smiled. "I'll see you in the morning, Nerissa. There are some things Cauthrien and I can't tell you because they're Warden secrets, but we'll try to answer any other questions you might have, all right? It's important that we all trust each other-we'll have to work very closely together." Nerissa nodded. Alistair gave her another smile, turned and headed down the corridor, leaving her with the tall knight.

"I guess Alistair meant to put you next to my room?" Cauthrien asked.

"That's what he said."

"That's probably going to be the most convenient for us both," Cauthrien noted, opening the door.

It was a small room as Alistair had said, somewhat smaller than her Enchanter quarters in the Tower. But this one actually had a door she could close, a great improvement on the open alcoves the enchanters had, and Nerissa looked around with approval. A small bed with a good mattress, a chest at the foot, a table with a chair near the window, a bookcase and a wardrobe completed the furnishings. There was a small fireplace and even a nice rug on the floor.

'This is very nice," she said. Cauthrien nodded.

"The Couslands take care of their people, that's for sure. I'll get you a key." At Nerissa's look of incomprehension, the knight's brow furrowed. "So you can lock your room when you're not here?"

"We weren't allowed any such thing in the Tower. My room didn't even have a door," the little enchanter explained. "The Templars wanted to be able to look in on you at any time." Her nose wrinkled. "You never know when we might be getting up to malefic thoughts or something."

"Maker! I had no idea! They watched you all the time?"

Nerissa nodded. "Day and night."

"That's…_creepy_."

"So I always thought. But you do get used to it, if you've not known anything else. Though the Senior Enchanters got private rooms, so I'd have had a door of my own when I got back. But even Senior Enchanters don't get to lock their rooms."

"Well you can have your privacy with the Wardens, that's for certain. How long are you going to be with us?"

"The contract says for up to ten years."

Cauthrien nodded thoughtfully. "Good. A lot can happen in ten years. Maybe things will…open up a bit for your folk before you have to go back."

"Gracious! That's certainly open-minded of you, Ser Cauthrien. Not to mention heretical."

The lanky knight grinned. "I'm not much of a one for religion. But I was on that roof, and I saw what you and your people did. Ferelden's a relatively small country, next to a very rapacious neighbor." A shadow fell over her narrow face. "Though Orlais isn't a problem right now, it could be in the future. I can see them wanting to take advantage of what they deem is our weakened, disorganized state. Our mages could be a real advantage, were that to happen-and were we to let them be."

"Is that really _your_ problem, now that you're a Warden?" Nerissa asked curiously.

Cauthrien's smile was wry. "Old habits die hard. And this one is decades long." She cast her eyes about the room. "I know where the linens are kept. Come along and I'll show you and help you get the bed sorted. Wood for the fireplace is a bit scant at present, we're still really getting settled back in, but it's always warm in the main rooms and there are plenty of blankets."

Nerissa dropped her sack and her staff in the room, and followed Cauthrien obediently down the hall. The knight's ready acceptance was unexpected and heartwarming.

_This is going to be __**awesome**__! _she thought to herself with glee.


	47. Chapter 47

Thanks to Anon, Anon42, Zukafew (for _multiple_ catch-up reviews!), Ghosthands, Zute (x2!), Marvey4 (catch your breath yet?), Amidamaru88, LivewithHonour, xseikax, none, jBrand625, SuperGravyMan, sordahon1428, MrPowell, Wolf's Honour, Suilven, JordanMathias, lazyguy90, karthik9, david9999, spectre4hire, millelibri, Mike3207, 17986, acedude, Ronin Kenshin, csorciere and Blighted114 (x2!) for your lovely reviews.

Wedding preparations have officially begun. I've not been very specific about the passage of time, but you can assume it's been two weeks since Corin woke up.

* * *

><p>Bartleby Sattler was, despite his family name, a cobbler. And he supposed that he was a lucky man. He'd gotten word of the evacuation of Denerim early enough that he was able to get a wagon, and when he and his family had returned to Denerim, they'd found the building that housed both his cobbler's shop and their apartment had been unscathed by fire or Taint. Even with the increase in the price of food, he had enough set by to keep his family fed.<p>

And Teyrn Fergus, seeing that he'd returned so swiftly, had given him a small contract to supply and repair the army's boots. Taken as a whole, Bartleby's fortune had been good, and the fact that he could not indulge his artistic visions where footwear was concerned had to be counted a small disappointment in comparison. His wife Moire had certainly been relieved when he'd announced after their return that he was tired of fighting noble prejudice against native craftsmen and would confine his efforts in the future to making the practical sorts of boots common men would readily purchase. To her way of thinking, entirely too much money had been spent on fine leathers for shoes that were not purchased until they were sold at little more than the cost of the materials to middle-class Fereldans who were happy to snap up the bargains.

He was busy tapping nails into the heel of yet another army boot one morning when the bell on the door rang. He looked up to see Mistress Leliana, who was one of the few people who appreciated his artistic efforts, enter the store, along with a tiny young elven woman who looked little more than a child, but was dressed in red robes and carried a mage's staff. _A __**mage**__? Here?_ He had heard that the Circle mages were helping in the city, had even seen parties of them at a distance, going about burning Tainted rubble, but he'd never thought that he'd actually meet a mage face-to-face.

"Good morning, Master Sattler! It's good to see you back in the city," the bard said in her lilting, Orlesian-accented voice. I trust that you found things in good order when you returned?"

Bartleby laid his hammer down and came out from behind the counter. "I did, Mistress Leliana. Thank you for asking. I was very fortunate. But I fear I have no more slippers than I had at the last sale. I've decided to limit my trade to just making more workaday boots and shoes. There's no future in trying to get into the noble trade-the Antivans and the Orlesians have it all locked up."

"I am sad to hear that," the bard said, with a delightful pout. "It seems that I shall just have to find a dress to match those green shoes I bought from you then, to wear to the royal wedding, since you have no more slippers."

Despite his resolution, the cobbler found his interest piqued. "You'll wear my shoes to the royal wedding?"

"Of course. Everyone will see them."

"That's very kind of you. What can I do for you today?"

"This is Senior Enchanter Nerissa Surana. She's been assigned as a liason to the Grey Wardens to help with cleaning up the last darkspawn and the Warden-Commander wants her to learn to ride. So she needs riding boots. Warden Theirin asked me to help her shop."

"I…see. Very well then, let me go get my measure." He stepped back behind the counter to get the hide upon which he had traced the outlines of all his standard lasts, then brought it out and set it upon the floor. "If you would just remove your boot, Senior Enchanter, and place the heel of your foot against the red mark there?"

The Senior Enchanter nodded, and stooped to pull off a well-worn boot. As Bartleby had suspected, her foot was the size of a young human girl. In fact, he had only one pair of boots ready-made on that particular last, and he was not inclined to sell them, for that would formally mark the end of his dream.

"I know already that I don't have anything in stock in this size, but I can make you a pair in a week's time, if that will suffice. Shall I show you some leather?"

"Thank you," Mistress Leliana said. "That would be very nice." The mage said nothing, but gave him a smile.

It seemed a very normal, nice sort of smile and emboldened, Bartleby said, "I've never met a mage before, Senior Enchanter."

The smile broadened into a grin. "I never met a cobbler before either, Master Sattler," the Senior Enchanter said in a sweet, clear voice. "We had shoes brought in to the Tower, but a lot of them were hand-me-downs. This will be the first time I've ever gotten something made _just_ for me. It's rather exciting!"

"I will try not to disappoint then." He started to turn then, to go back behind the counter and get his sample book, when a daring idea struck him. He turned back to the innocuous-seeming elf. She looked so very small and harmless…"Pardon me, Senior Enchanter. But I've never seen any magic, at least not up close. I was wondering-could you show me some? Something very small, perhaps?"

"Master Sattler!" Mistress Leliana remonstrated. But the little mage just looked him in the eyes for a moment, then smiled.

"It's all right, Leliana. Master Sattler is curious and that's rather nice actually. Much nicer than people screaming in fear and running away." She leaned her ominous looking staff against the counter and cupped her hands. Bartleby was expecting her to use the staff, to wave it about and chant. So he was a bit startled when she said, "Master Sattler? You wanted to see magic," and nodded down towards her hands.

He took a cautious step forward and peered down. A tiny blizzard swirled there, caught within the net of her fingers. Awed, he heard himself ask softly, "Is it real?"

"It's real. I don't do glamour magic. Go ahead, touch it. But don't stick your finger all the way in unless you want frostbite!" He pushed just the tip of his finger towards the blizzard, felt it go cold and numb and snatched it back. An odd burble of delight welled up within him and he laughed.

"That's _amazing_!"

The Senior Enchanter nodded, and that infectious grin manifested again. "It is, isn't it?" Then the tiny blizzard transformed into a tiny lightning storm and after that a little ball of flame, which vanished when she pulled her hands apart.

"I'm an expert in what they call the Primal school of magic," she explained more soberly when it was gone. "Just like there are different sorts of warriors, there are different sorts of mages. Quite honestly, Primals are one of the sorts the Chantry worries most about, because of our destructive capabilities. A lot of battlemages are Primals."

Bartlesby looked down at her tiny form, surprised. "_You're_ a battlemage?"

She nodded. "Yes, I am. When I throw a full Blizzard, it's bigger than the front room of your shop, and a lot colder to boot." The cobbler tried to imagine such a thing.

"Senior Enchanter Surana fought all the way up through Denerim with the Crown Prince," Mistress Leliana put in. "And she was on the roof through the whole battle. In fact, she saved my life, and Warden Theirin's and Warden Cauthrien's. The Prince had split us up into two parties, to shoot the ballistas up there at the Archdemon. The Archdemon _pounced _upon our ballista, breaking it. We were all having to roll out from under it, it was so close. And Nerissa _petrified it_! Her staff was practically _touching_ it!"

The cobbler's eyes grew wide, but the Senior Enchanter was dismissive. "I got lucky, Leliana. You know how resistant to magic that thing was. The Petrify only held it for a moment."

"Even so, it was enough time for us to get away. And you healed Warden Cauthrien's broken leg so she could go fight it and killed all those darkspawn trying to get through the door onto the roof to save the Archdemon. You really helped turn the tide that day."

The Senior Enchanter's head bowed for a moment. Bartleby could see the tips of her ears go pink. _I am in the presence of a true hero_, he realized. _And a modest one at that_. And in that instant, he made a decision.

"Actually, Senior Enchanter, I think I _might_ have a pair of boots close to your size after all. At least you can try them on for fit and they might give you some ideas about style. Wait right here."

He went into the back room, which was both stockroom and additional workspace. Moire was cutting out uppers for army boots on the worktable. Her eyes widened when she saw the box he took down.

"What are you doing, Barty?"

"What I should have done a long time ago. Someone the right size just came in."

He took the box back out front, opened it on the counter and drew the boots inside out. Leliana's eyes grew wide, as did the little enchanter's. "Try these on, Senior Enchanter."

The boots were sized for a pair of girl's feet, the uppers ornately tooled in a pattern of woodland flowers, the ornate stitching pattern on the smooth leather feet absolutely even and perfect, setting the design off admirably.

The little fingers that had just summoned lightning, ice and fire stroked the leather gently. "These are _awesome_!" the elf breathed, her eyes alight.

"They were my masterwork for the Cobbler's Guild," Bartleby said. "I'd done them as a commission for a nobleman's young daughter from River Dane. But when the time came to pick them up, she wouldn't take them. A friend of hers had just gotten a pair from an Antivan bootmaker who was currently all the rage, and nothing would do but that she have a pair from him too."

"Did her father ever pay you for them?" Mistress Leliana asked. Bartleby shook his head.

"No, but since they were my masterwork, I just kept them as advertisement." He gestured towards the box. "Go ahead. Try them on. They were made on the last I was going to use for you. I need to know if they'll fit. I can make some changes to the pattern if they don't."

He escorted the young mage over to the padded seat and helped her with the boot hooks. She stood when the boots were on and walked carefully about.

"Go ahead. Give them a good stamp or two," Bartlesby urged. "They _are_ riding boots, no matter how fancy they look. How do they feel? Any pinching along the top or toes?"

The Senior Enchanter stomped as directed, then walked some more, then suddenly did a little hop. "No, they don't pinch _anywhere_!" She looked up at Bartleby, her eyes shining. "A pair just this size would be great! Not so fancy as these, of course-Warden Theirin is paying for this, and I don't know how much money he has to spend." She looked down at the boots and pointed a toe, turning it this way and that, admiring. "They're _awfully_ pretty though. That girl was _stupid_."

_Yes, she __**was**__ stupid_, Bartleby realized. _And an __**elf mage **__who did what the Senior Enchanter did is far more deserving of these boots than some spoiled nobleman's daughter! _"They're yours, Senior Enchanter."

The Senior Enchanter looked up at him regretfully. "I'm sorry, but I really don't think we can afford these, Master Sattler. A plain pair with your beautiful workmanship will suit me just fine."

"They're yours, and I won't take a penny for them." Her eyes widened in astonishment. His voice was firm as he clarified. "For what you did on the roof of Drakon. For what you did for my country and my family. They're yours."

The tips of those ears went pink again. The wide eyes grew suspiciously bright, until the young elf ducked her head and blinked a few times. Mistress Leliana, who was smiling broadly, laid a hand upon her shoulder. When she looked back up, her cheeks were pink as well.

"Thank you, Master Sattler," she said forthrightly. "_Thank you _for the lovely boots! I will always treasure them. It's a very generous gift. And thank you as well for not being afraid of me."

"It was my very great pleasure," he said, realizing it was true. The action had a sense of rightness about it. "Now-shall I box them up or will you wear them out?"

Senior Enchanter Surana looked out the door. An expression of horror came over her face. "Wear them _out_? Into the _mud_?"

Leliana chuckled. "You need to break them in, Nerissa, no matter how well they fit. And I can show you how to clean them."

The elf shook her head firmly. "No, box them up. I don't want to get them dirty just yet." She went over to the bench, sat down and got the boot jack to begin pulling them off. "Besides, they're _riding_ boots. If I manage to stay on the horse I won't _ever _get them dirty!"

"You might have to walk through mud to get _to _the horse, Nerissa!" Leliana said, but she was laughing. "Although far be it from me to deprive you of motivation!"

"Not in the palace stable yard I won't! Not for a while yet! Let me enjoy the new for just a bit," she said, pulling her own boots back on, while at the same time watching Bartleby put the boots back in their box. When she came to take them from him she was smiling broadly and he found himself thinking what a cute little thing she was.

"Thank you again, Master Sattler."

"You're very welcome, Senior Enchanter."

"Are you certain that you won't do any more slippers?" Leliana asked, her face sorrowful. "Because we're working on a dress for Nerissa for the wedding. Something plum-colored, I think. And you have her size now. Would you have time in the next three weeks to work some up?"

"Something with a bit of a heel maybe?" the Senior Enchanter asked plaintively. "So I could be a little bit _taller _for once?"

Bartleby chuckled. "Bring me a swatch of the dress fabric and I'll see what I can do. And if you'd rather have me make shoes for you again, Mistress Leliana, I will do that as well. But I'd need at least a week before the wedding to do both pairs."

Leliana nodded. "Thank you, Master Sattler. I'll keep it in mind." And the two young women took their leave. Moire came out into the front room once they'd been gone, slipping her arm about her husband's waist.

"You didn't need to give the boots away, Barty. I never meant you should get rid of all of your fancy shoes. Particularly _those_ boots."

The cobbler shrugged. "It just seemed the right thing to do, somehow. It certainly made her happy, and I'm thinking maybe that doesn't happen for mages much, locked in the Circle as they are." He looked down at his workbench and sighed. "I need to get back to these heels. Teyrn Fergus was wanting this first batch day after tomorrow."

Moire shook her head and kissed his cheek. "Come have some tea first. I made some scones to go with it."

* * *

><p>When the carriage pulled up before the shop the next day, Bartleby didn't even notice at first, intent as he was upon getting the boots done. Only when the door bell chimed did he look up-and freeze in place for a moment in astonishment.<p>

The young man was tall enough and broad enough that he filled most of the doorframe. Handsome in dark blue brocade, with a fur-lined cloak over all, his proud black head bore neither hat nor crown, but the glowing sword at his side proclaimed who he was. Bartlesby hastened around the counter and bent knee to the floor.

"Your Royal Highness! You honor my humble shop!"

"Please, do get up, Master Sattler," the Crown Prince said pleasantly. "I'd like to discuss some business with you if I might."

Bartleby did as he was bidden. "How may I serve you, Sire?"

Corin Cousland smiled, a flash of white teeth. "Well, you see, I have this wedding to go to three weeks from now. And I need a pair of boots. I saw the ones you gave Senior Enchanter Surana. They're lovely. I was wondering if you could work up something for me."

Astonished, Bartleby managed to stammer, "I…of course, my lord prince. To be honest, the only other work I have at present is an army commission."

"Fergus says you can take your time about that, if you're working for me. His boots will wait until after the wedding. I'll see he sends that to you in writing if you wish."

"No, of course not. Your word is good enough for me, Sire."

Moire, drawn by the commotion, peaked into the front room at that moment, actually squeaked in surprise, then curtseyed deeply.

"May I get Your Royal Highness anything?" she asked breathlessly. "Some tea perhaps? I baked some muffins this morning."

To Bartleby's surprise, the Prince not only did not turn up his nose, he actually looked interested.

"Do you have cream and sugar for the tea?"

"Yes, Sire."

"Then certainly, and I thank you. It's been a while since breakfast. Nothing fancy, though, Mistress. Don't go to any great trouble. A mug and a napkin will serve." Moire looked scandalized at the very idea, but she bobbed another curtsey and dashed back into the back room and from there, upstairs. A bodyguard and manservant had entered behind the Prince, and he gestured to the manservant, who came forward and put a cloth-swathed bundle upon the counter, bowed and withdrew.

"This is a piece of the brocade for my wedding doublet," he said, presenting a swatch of white fabric threaded with gold to Bartleby. Closer examination revealed that the gold threading was a brocaded pattern of twining golden roses. When the package on the counter was unwrapped a hide of beautiful tawny gold Antivan leather was revealed. Bartleby's fingers started twitching the moment he saw it. Additional pieces of white and gold suede, some golden buckles and a spool of gold thread were also in the package.

"I was wondering if you could do an over-the-knee pair along the line of these," and the Prince gestured to the handsome blue pair of boots he was wearing, "but with a rose pattern of some sort instead. I should like to be head-to-toe golden roses on my wedding day."

Bartleby was puzzled by that. Not that it was his place to comment, but the design concept seemed a bit…flowery…for the Hero of Ferelden. Seeing his expression, the Prince chuckled. "It's a bit of a joke for the Queen. Trust me, she'll enjoy it."

"If you say so, Sire. Though if I may be so bold as to say, you're a brave man to joke on your wedding day."

The corner of the Prince's mouth curled up. "So they tell me," the slayer of the Archdemon observed dryly. "The breeches will be buff doeskin, by the way."

Bartleby was fingering the leathers, his mind already beginning to work upon a design. But he had to be honest. "The boots you are wearing are Orlesian. Alphonse. I know his work. Are you sure you wouldn't like him to make these as well?"

The Prince's eyebrow rose. "He's not here. And even if he were- I'm going to be the King of _Ferelden_. Whatever would I want an _Orlesian_ bootmaker for? Or an Antivan for that matter? _You're_ the one who had the stones to come back to Denerim this quickly. You have the Leliana Seal of Approval, which is damned hard to get. And having seen it, _I_ like your work as well."

Bartleby's dream came roaring back to life in that moment. Oddly, the Prince seemed to sense that, for he smiled suddenly, though the cobbler had said nothing aloud at all.

"Then I'll get my sizing hide, Sire and we'll start a fitting," Bartleby managed to say. "I'll see custom lasts are done if what I have isn't close enough." The Prince simply nodded, and handed Bartleby a sizeable purse.

"The advance. With the same to come when they're completed."

Looking into the purse, the cobbler found both gold and silver, a more than adequate advance for even such a complex commission. The Prince lifted an imperious eyebrow.

"Pull out all the stops, Master Sattler. I'd like these to be blindingly gorgeous."

What followed had to be the most surreal yet wonderful time of Bartleby's life, as he measured the Hero of Ferelden for a pair of boots. The Prince was very cheerful and matter-of-fact, which put Bartleby at ease. When Moire came down with his tea in one of their plain pottery mugs on a tray with the cream and sugar and the muffin on a napkin, he was obviously pleased.

"Would you pour please, Mistress Sattler?" he asked politely. "I don't pour under a lady's roof." Charmed, she did so, adding a generous dollop of cream to the cup under his direction, as well as what looked to be half the sugar bowl. He picked the mug up and sipped it appreciatively, curling large, sword-scarred hands around it.

"Thank you for listening about the mug," he told her. "Those heirloom eggshell-thin cups always make me nervous. Big hands and tiny little cups don't always work out so well." Moire blushed and nodded.

"Your Royal Highness is very welcome." He set the cup down and took a bite out of the muffin.

"And this is an _excellent _muffin!" he declared after swallowing the first bite. "You're a lucky man, Master Sattler! I'm surprised there isn't more _substance_ to you, given that your wife is such a wonderful baker!"

Moire's blush deepened, but she preened a bit as well.

"I _am_ a very lucky man, Sire," Bartleby said, smiling. "Luckier than you know."

"That was a very nice thing you did for Senior Enchanter Surana the other day. I was impressed."

"How did you find out, Sire? If you don't mind my asking?"

The Crown Prince chuckled. "How could I _not_? Nerissa is staying in my brother's suite at the Palace with the other Wardens. She was prancing about in your boots when I came to see Fergus, under pretext of breaking them in, and nothing would serve but that I be given the chance to admire them in detail. _Excruciating_ detail! I _think_ she might be wearing them to bed!"

Bartleby laughed in genuine pleasure. It was true, he'd experienced a pang or two of remorse after giving the boots up, but he'd worked through that by this morning. "I'm very glad she liked them so much. I must admit, she wasn't what I thought a mage would be at all. She _said_ she was a battlemage, but she looked so small and harmless!"

The Prince nearly choked on his tea. "_Surana_? _Harmless_? Master Sattler, you not only met your first mage, you met one of the most dangerous, powerful mages in Ferelden! She's only twenty-two and she was just made a Senior Enchanter, which means she's one of the youngest in history. She can throw a triple-spell combination that will freeze a horde of darkspawn in their tracks! I wish I'd had her during this last year, instead of just during the last battle. Things would have gone a lot quicker."

Astonished, Bartleby said, "But she seemed so _nice_!"

"That's because she _is_ nice! Mages are people too, Master Sattler. They've got their good and bad like anyone else."

The Prince's visit turned out in the end to be more prolonged than Bartleby had expected. Leaning casually against the counter and sipping Moire's tea, he invited them to have some as well, while they talked about what was going on in the city and how the refugees were faring. He solicited the cobbler's and his wife's opinion upon current policy with a sincerity that was very flattering. By the time he finally left, Bartleby promising a sketch of the design within two days, the Sattlers were his fervently loyal acolytes.

"I thought that with the Theirins gone, Ferelden would be in a bad way," Bartleby told his wife when the Prince had departed. "Now I think we'll be just fine."

Moire, her expression almost dreamy, picked up the tray to carry it upstairs. "I have no doubt of that," she said. "The Queen is a very _lucky_ woman!"

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, the Queen was in something of a state of despair at the palace. Piles of gowns and fabric were strewn across her bedroom. She had initially intended to simply re-use the gown she'd been married and crowned in the first time. Always careful of her weight, she had felt confident of her ability to get back into it. And she did not want to go to any great expense, given the kingdom's precarious finances. But the gown was very stiff, embroidered and jeweled brocade and despite the fact that her pregnancy was very new, her breasts were already a little bit larger and tender. It had been extremely uncomfortable and Anora knew that three more weeks would render that plan impossible. And it was designed in such a way that letting it out would be difficult.<p>

"You need something new anyway," Erlina declared. "'E's been good about wearing the late King's clothes every day, but ze two of you need something new for yourselves, to start your new life together. And you need something that will not 'urt ze babee."

"We have _three weeks_, Erlina! And none of my usual dressmakers have returned to Denerim yet!"

Her maid gave her a thoughtful eye. "There are seamstresses a-plenty already back in ze Alienage."

Anora pondered that, struck by the idea. "There are, aren't there? And they could certainly use the money. Corin would approve-he's all about stimulating the local economy. And it would be a good move politically." She looked at her maid. "Do you know some people, Erlina?"

The maid nodded. "I will go and talk to the _'ahren_. And I will take Amethyne with me, to see eef her family is back, so that she can visit. We will need a sewing room, Your Majesty, and maybe even a place for some of the women to sleep. Eet would be easier for them to just stay 'ere in the palace than to go back and forth, given the long hours."

Anora nodded. "I will see to that, Erlina. You go find me some sewing women."

* * *

><p>The next morning, half a dozen elven seamstresses were assembled in what had been a large parlor in one of the vacant guest suites, their eyes wide as they looked about. The fabric and gowns had all been moved into the space and long tables with many lamps had been put along the window side of the room. The elves all curtseyed when the Queen entered, but she bade them rise.<p>

"Your country has need of your skill. I need a wedding gown, and we have three weeks to make that happen." She gestured to the pile of gowns and fabric and notions. "I need to work with what we have here, and I would like something that's a bit of a departure from the current style. Something more loose and flowing, like a hundred years ago, but regal. Do you think you could create something like that, under the limitations I have described?"

The oldest seamstress, an elf with a pleasantly wrinkled face and iron-grey hair, nodded. "I am sure that we could, Your Majesty. My name is Marilayne."

"Thank you, Mistress Marilayne. Could you please introduce me to these other ladies?"

A spate of names followed. Anora was able to file the two more memorable ones away immediately. The others would come with repetition. Introductions done, Erlina stepped forward with small money pouches and handed them out. Surprised murmurs of gratitude followed.

"If any of you need to have your money delivered to your kin at the Alienage, then let my maid know and she'll see that one of our house folk will see it done under proper guard. You will be paid human rates for your work, not the pittance you usually get. If you require escort home at the end of the day-again, inform Erlina. But there will be quarters and bathing chambers here available if you'd rather just stay here to sleep, and of course food will be available at all hours as well. You will have anything you need to enable you to complete this task. Are there any questions?" Shaken heads answered her. "How long before you can give me some ideas about a design, Mistress Marilayne?" she asked the older elf. "You are in charge of the sewing room, by the way."

The older elf inclined her head, seemingly undaunted. "Come back an hour after lunch, Your Majesty, and we should have some beginning ideas." At Anora's look of surprise, she chuckled. "I do wedding clothes all the time in the Alienage, Your Majesty. And no one knows more about making do look magnificent than an elf!"

* * *

><p>After lunch Anora returned, to find that the elf seamstress was as good as her word. "We thought we'd just use this white silk chemise under all," Marilayne said, offering the garment to Anora for inspection, "with new gold embroidery about the neck and cuffs and some pearling as well, given that you have all these tiny pearls." She gestured to the coffer containing them on the table. "The gown itself will be out of this cream-colored silk, which is a sizeable piece and very lovely." At this point, she produced a sketch for Anora that was well-drawn and delineated a gown of simple style, caught high beneath the breasts, with a trained, gracefully flowing skirt with a simple band of embroidery about the hem. The bodice was cut low enough that the detail on the chemise could be seen, and the cuffs of the chemise puffed out at the ends of the fitted sleeves.<p>

"As you can see, there is fullness in the back, which is held in by lacing," Marilayne said, her finger indicating what looked to be a cord fastening attached to the bodice band. "If Your Majesty should conceive a child, which we all hope you will in time, you could still wear this gown by simply lacing it more loosely." Startled, Anora gave the elven women a piercing look, only to be met by an imperturbable green gaze. _She suspects that I'm pregnant, _Anora realized, and realized as well that given certain bodily changes that would be impossible to hide from the seamstresses, that word might get out before she preferred it did.

A second piece of parchment was offered to her. The picture showed a high-necked, slash-sleeved, coat-like garment that hung open in the front so that the gown could be seen, but it had clasps, so presumably it could be closed as well.

"We thought to make the over-gown out of Your Majesty's old coronation gown. We'll split it into panels to spread it and intersperse it with panels this other gold brocade here, and use this gold braid and that ermine over there to trim it. It will also be pearled. It will be floor length and trained as well, to go with the gown. Your Majesty may wear it open or closed, depending upon Your preference. Is this something like what you had in mind?"

"It is not only like what I had in mind, it is honestly an improvement," Anora admitted, admiring the two drawings. "I think that this will suit nicely. Thank you, Mistress Marilayne and thank the rest of you as well." Murmurs of gratified acknowledgement rose from her new seamstresses.

"Then if Your Majesty has the time this afternoon, we'll take a measure and get started," Marilayne said with a smile and a curtsey.


	48. Chapter 48

Thanks to Vibrolux61, FellowNrd, Ronin Kenshin, xseikax, Mike3207 (x2!), spectre4hire, Guest, none, mille libri, Shepard (you got your wish this chapter), Agent94, Zukafew119 (for _many_ lovely reviews!), Zxzdragon, SuperGravyMan, Anon, SgtGinger, Suilven, Blighted114, hub.1, ladydragn, Marvey4, Legionary Prime, karthik9, Liso66, 17986, thecelticspirit, csorciere, and Wargamer08 for all your insightful comments. It's such a pleasure to see new names at this late date, as well as old friends. Thank you all!

* * *

><p>Over the next week, Anora's gown began to take shape with astonishing swiftness, and she'd heard from Corin that the tailor and cobbler he'd commissioned were making strides with his wedding clothes. He'd also mentioned that he'd commissioned the wedding rings and that they were nearly finished. But that left her with another problem she needed resolved and soon, for he'd also assured her that he was working on her betrothal ring as well. She needed a betrothal ring for him, and found herself with absolutely no idea about what would be suitable.<p>

She knew what wouldn't be. Her father's ring was out of the question, and her grandfather's, though dear to her, was only simple silver and not appropriate for a King. And she also thought that Corin wouldn't appreciate the MacTir connection, even at such a distant remove. So she enlisted Fergus' help one day and went down into the royal treasury, to see if anything could be found there.

"You'll need to have the crowns cleaned and polished, 'Nora," the Teyrn of Highever noted, as they passed the velvet lined cases that contained them. "At least we know that the King's crown will fit Corin without any adjustment, if Cailan's old prince coronet did."

Anora nodded. "I'll see to that within the next couple of days. As well as the dishes we'll use at the wedding feast."

The Treasury was a main vaulted chamber surrounded by smaller chambers with locked iron doors. There was little ventilation and no light, other than what they brought with them and the odd torch holder. Anora didn't want to stay long, and from the grim look on Fergus' face, he too was a bit troubled with claustrophobia in the enclosed space.

"This place is _creeeeepy_, as Alistair is wont to say," he commented in a low voice.

Most of what was there was coinage in gold and silver and some silverite, and the royal plate, but there were also a couple of large chests of jewelry besides the crowns and sceptres. She'd brought up everything she wanted to wear herself soon after her wedding to Cailan, and in fact had not been down here since. Surprisingly, the dark, dank space brought back to her a strangely vivid, happy memory of her first husband, back in the early days of their marriage. Cailan's golden head and his smile had lit up this place.

"_Take whatever you like, Anora! " he'd declared, raining coins through his fingers, flinging them exuberantly through the air. "You are my Queen, and everything I have is yours!" _They'd spent a couple of giddy hours down here, draping themselves with jewelry until they looked ridiculous, rolling in the piles of gold, laughing and exchanging kisses. It had been a rare lowering of dignity on her part, and one of the last. She bowed her head for a moment and blinked a couple of times.

_Rest you well at the Maker's side, Cailan. Even in that place of Light, you will be one of the brighter things_.

Mastering herself, Anora lifted the lid on the first of the jewelry chests.

* * *

><p>It took a couple of hours to look through everything. The jewelry chests proved to have nothing of interest but a sapphire ring, the styling of which Anora was unimpressed with, but took anyway because the stone was a very nice one and she thought that she might have it re-set in a ring more personal to Corin if nothing else turned up. Then they unlocked the smaller vaults one by one, only to find that they contained primarily coin or plate. By the time they reached the last vault, the quest was looking fruitless.<p>

"Nothing but coin and plate here too, from the look of things," Fergus noted, peering in. Anora nodded, and was about to turn away when a sudden breath of cold air drifted past her cheek into the vault. Eyes wide, she looked at Fergus, who was also showing the whites of his eyes.

"What in the Maker's name was _that_?" he muttered. There was no way that a normal breeze could penetrate down into these cramped, dark, passages.

There was a loud chink of falling coin within the room, as if something had shifted the pile. _A rat? _Anora wondered, and shuddered. She couldn't abide rodents. _Which may have been in part why I despised Rendon Howe so much…_ Lifting her lantern towards the sound, she could find no furtive, dark, skittering shadow-but there was an odd, bright glint among the coins that had not been there before, uncovered perhaps by the shifting in the pile. Keeping her eyes fixed upon it, she walked warily into the room. It was a ring she found when she laid her hand upon it, a ring in archaic style. A diamond was clenched between the entwined front paws and jaws of two mabari, whose stylized bodies and tails formed the ring itself. The ring had been sized for a man's large finger, and though the styling was obviously ancient, it was strangely delicate and vibrant work. She closed her hand upon it and felt the breeze again, this time drifting _back out of the vault_.As it passed her there was the ghost of a chill breath upon her cheek, almost like a kiss. And for just the briefest instant, she thought she sensed another, familiar presence there. An oddly bright, sunny presence in this gloomy place. She got the impression that it was radiating love and approval.

"_Cailan_?" came the hoarse, shaken whisper of Cailan's dearest friend, by which she knew that she was not alone in sensing that presence. Fergus' eyes were wide and suspiciously bright in the lantern light. "Did you feel that, 'Nora?" She nodded. "Do you think it could have been _him_?"

Anora swallowed. "I think it could have been," she admitted in a low voice. "It was as if…someone were here with us. Someone who loved us both."

"The breeze…it was like a hand on my shoulder. His hand, as he used to do."

They stared at each other for a long moment, until Fergus shook himself and looked at her clenched hand.

"What did you find?"

"This," she said, moving back to Fergus and handing the ring to him. "It must have escaped the jewelry chests at some point. If it had been with the jewelry, surely Cailan would have taken it. He would have decided that it belonged to Calenhad himself or something and insisted on wearing it."

"He wouldn't have been far off the mark if he had," Fergus observed, his usual brisk manner beginning to return. "It may not be Calenhad's, but of a certainty it's old. We had a few old things in a similar style in Highever's treasury." He turned the ring over in his hand. "It needs a cleaning, but it looks close to Corin's size. And it's a relatively narrow band, which you need in a betrothal ring." He looked back up at Anora. "What do you think?"

"I think that I wouldn't dare give Corin anything _else_ at this point!" she admitted. Fergus chuckled.

"There is that! Looks like you have the seal of royal approval. Are we done here? I need a drink!"

Anora nodded. "We're done here." But she gave the vault one last, considering look and a sad smile before locking it behind her.

* * *

><p>Long accustomed to such tasks, Erlina polished the ring up quite nicely. When she had done so, Anora was able by light of day to read some faint letters on the inside of the band. The inscription was a "WT" in archaic, almost-runic looking script, worn away to near illegibility by long use.<p>

_**Weylan**__ Theirin, _she mused. _Not Calenhad, but his son. An artifact of one of the first Theirin kings, given by the last Theirin king to the first Cousland king._

She decided to take it for a hopeful sign that though dynasties might fail, Ferelden would endure.

* * *

><p>Two days later, she'd had the ring inscribed by the jeweler whose family had had the royal patronage for generations. It was a lucky thing the ring was a large one, for her chosen inscription was lengthier than most such things. The same jeweler had been tasked to come to the palace and prepare the crowns a couple of days before the wedding and coronation. That would be done under the watchful eyes of Maric's Shield.<p>

Corin was late coming in that night, having spent the day in the refugee camps and in the town, and he was moving a bit stiffly when he came into her rooms, Pooka at his side, despite a long, hot bath beforehand. But he brightened when he saw the heavily laden supper table and Anora in her crimson gown.

"There's a sight for sore eyes!" he declared, coming forward to kiss her. "Though you shouldn't ever hold dinner for me if you are hungry."

"To tell the truth, I get sick about sundown, as well as in the morning," Anora admitted. "Sometimes it's easier to eat a piece of bread and wait a bit for the rest. You look tired."

"I walked a bit more than I've been used to today, visiting all the refugees," he admitted. "We've got to get more wood to them before winter sets in, and clean water. I had to have a few words with folks who were being lazy and dumping slops where they shouldn't have. There will be enough sickness without that sort of thing. And there were people in the city who had grievances." He lowered himself carefully into his chair. "After the wedding, I need to get out, go down to Dragon's Peak and South Reach, see how they're getting on. Not to mention Highever. I know Fergus will have Mother with him, but I'd like to be there to, to lend support. And our people would probably appreciate it."

"I'm sorry that I can't be more helpful in getting around to see people at present."

"You're doing the most important job of all." Her betrothed smiled. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help with _that_."

"Oh, I think you've done _quite_ enough in that department!" But Anora was smiling as well. "I have something for you." She indicated the small box sitting on the table next to a soup tureen. Corin looked at her inquiringly. "It's your betrothal ring." When he picked up the box and opened it, his eyebrows lifted.

"This is…this is _beautiful_!" He took the ring from the box and held it down towards Pooka, who had settled beside him on the floor. "Look, Pook! Mabari!" Pooka lifted his head and gave the ring a cursory sniff, then put lowered it once more, obviously unimpressed. Corin chuckled. "Well, _I_ like it! I like it _very_ much!" He turned the band in his hand, holding it close to the candles on the table so that he could read the new inscription: _By oath and inclination. A.. _His smile broadened. "I'm glad you liked that." Then he saw the older initials, and gave her a questioning look, his finger indicating the inscription. "Is that who I think it is?"

"I believe so," Anora said. "I didn't think we had anything that old in the treasury-certainly the crowns are the new ones, since the Orlesians melted the old ones down. Fergus and I found it by accident when we were down there the other day. Or perhaps it wasn't an accident, exactly…"

"From the tone of your voice, there's a tale to be told," Corin said, turning the band over and over in his fingers.

So Anora told him of the experience in the treasury. He'd seen enough strange things himself that she felt relatively confident doing so. His young face was thoughtful when she was done, and not a little sympathetic.

"People always say that they want to see their departed loved ones again. But I don't think it's necessarily all happiness and joy if it happens. It was a real wrench to me to have my father speak to me in the Gauntlet. Are you all right?"

"Yes," Anora said. "If it _was_ Cailan, I didn't see him and he didn't actually speak to me. But I had just remembered one of our happier times together, and the feeling I got when I found the ring was happy and loving. I rather like the idea that he approves of us, if you must know. Although I could be reading my own emotions into things."

"It certainly eases _my_ mind," her betrothed admitted. "I don't think I'd enjoy the idea that he was angry about us."

"Why would he be? He certainly wasn't faithful to me."

"The whole usurping his bloodline thing leaps to mind."

"You've not necessarily done that permanently. In fact, you're going to try to see that it does come back to the throne. And you are the one person in Ferelden who dared to go to Ostagar and bring him home. There was a lot of wailing and lamenting about his fall, but only _you_ cared enough to go get him. I suspect that's worth a lot in the way of goodwill where a spirit is concerned. He is with his fathers in the Royal Chapel now and that had to help his spirit rest." Anora gestured to the ring, and changed the subject. "For all that you say you like it, you've not put it on yet."

"That's because I want you to put it on me, as is proper. And I need to go get yours, so I can return the favor. Stay here, Pook-I'll be right back."

It did not take him long to make the short trip from his room and back, no matter that he was moving slowly. He returned with two little silk-wrapped packages in his hand. One he unwrapped and handed to her immediately. To her surprise, that diffident expression she'd not seen in a long time suddenly manifested. _He's worried if I will like it or not, _Anora realized.

She'd given him ancient gold. He had new-minted silverite for her, though there was gold present as well. The band was silverite, but inlaid upon it were the thorny stems of two roses in gold. The roses twined about an exquisite pale-blue sapphire to make the setting, their blooms resting to either side of it, their leaves forming the prongs that held the gem secure.

She studied the ring for a long enough time that he actually cleared his throat a bit nervously.

"So-do you like it? I found the sapphire down in the Deep Roads, among some of the loot we got down there. I kept it for a long time for some reason, though I sold all the other gems we found or gave the really nice ones except for this one to Shale. She collects them. I realized a while back that I still had it, and that it was the exact color of your eyes." He shrugged. "It's odd, when you think about it, that I kept it without knowing why."

Anora peered into the inside of the band. She'd quoted him for her inscription, but his was only two words. _Ever yours. C.. _A great warmth began to grow and swell beneath her breastbone and she looked back up at him and smiled.

"I _love_ it!" Corin sighed in exaggerated relief and she laughed. Her finger tracing the line of the band, she remarked, "Although I do notice that you included the thorns."

His confidence restored, her betrothed grinned. "All the _best _roses have them!"

* * *

><p>They gave each other the rings, and kissed softly afterwards. Then Corin gestured to the other silk-wrapped parcel. "The wedding rings. Just finished today. Do you want to see them?" Anora nodded, and he picked the parcel up, folded the silk back and handed her the smaller of the two.<p>

It was not what she'd expected, a plain band of gold or silverite. It was a fabulously intricate weaving of hair-thin strands of silverite, gold and some dark red metal she couldn't name, as well as a greenish-grey one.

"What are the red and green strands?" she asked.

"Volcanic aurum, which is fabulously rare and ironbark, which is also fabulously rare. A dwarven smith, a human smith and Master Varathorn all worked together on these for me. Not without some initial bickering at first, but they collaborated very well in the end." He turned his own ring over in his fingers, and looked down at her soberly. "I wanted the rings to represent Ferelden. All of Ferelden. Because when you and I wed, that is what we will be."

Anora's arms were about his neck and she was going up on tiptoes to kiss him before she even realized what she was doing. The arm that wasn't holding the rings scooped her up off of the floor in a very reassuring display of returning strength. The kiss was long and warm and wonderful-and eventually broken by a very audible rumble from Corin's stomach. She smiled at his rueful expression.

"I can see I'd better get you fed. As goes the King, so goes the kingdom."

"We can only hope!" he said fervently.

* * *

><p>It was an evening she long remembered as one of her favorites. The two of them set to dinner with good will, Anora's nausea momentarily abated. Afterwards, they settled upon the sofa in front of the fire, Corin with his head in her lap and his stocking feet draped over the arm. Anora stroked the silky, blue-black hair, looked down upon the handsome young face and felt a rare sense of contentment.<p>

"So-after we get the current crisis settled, and everyone fed through the winter and things more or less restored to normal," Corin said, his eyes half-lidded, his voice sleepy, "what do you hope to accomplish in our reign?"

Anora hesitated for a moment. The last time she'd spoken of this dream, Cailan had laughed. _"What do we want with such things? You're too worried that the rest of the world thinks us barbarians, Anora. I don't care what they think about us! I'm __**proud**__ to be an uncouth dog lord!"_

Corin, not getting any answer, opened his eyes fully and stared up at her. "Anora?"

"I…if you must know, I always wanted to found a university."

"I think that's an _excellent_ idea! We should start looking into that right away."

Surprised, she said, "But we're going to have to do everything we can just to scrape by in the next little bit, Corin. Now is not the best time."

"Now is _absolutely_ the best time!" She could tell from the expression on his face that he was not only sincere, but taken with the idea. "Oh, I don't deny we'll have to do it on the cheap at first. Start it wherever we can find a significant property of size that the Crown has taken over because there are no heirs. But the fact that we're actually _doing_ something like that will show people that we have faith that we'll not only get through this, but that things will be better once we have."

Gratified, Anora admitted, "Cailan always thought I was wanting to do it because I didn't want other nations thinking we were unwashed dog-lords."

Corin's brow furrowed. "It's not about that at all, is it?" She shook her head. "It's about wanting to make people better. Education improves peoples' lives, enables them to do better for themselves. As rulers, we should be doing things to make sure our subjects are educated."

"A lot of rulers prefer their subjects ignorant and malleable."

He grinned. "Since Fereldans are anything _but_ malleable, we might as well give up on the ignorant as well." Then his expression sobered. "There are things _I _want to do too, Anora. Things that quite honestly might bring the Chantry down on our heads. They won't succeed in a kingdom that quashes thought and honest examination of belief. They might possibly succeed in a kingdom that allows such examination, that is educated. By all means, let's start your university, and maybe look into more schooling for children while we're about it."

"I would like that very much."

Corin's eyebrow quirked and the grin returned. "_How much_?"

"Sit up a bit." When he'd done so, Anora leaned over and kissed him fervently. Those strong arms tightened about her and his voice whispered maddeningly into her ear.

"I'm going to talk dirty to you now." The next thing she knew, he'd released her, only to get to his feet and scoop her up.

"Corin! Your back!"

"Is just fine. And I _will_ be riding to our wedding." His head bent as he carried her towards his room, so that his lips were in proximity to her ear once more. "Like I said, I'm talking dirty, so listen closely, Anora. Lectures. Classes. Tenured professors. Visiting professors. Treatises. Libraries. _Examinations_…"

Giggling, the Queen of Ferelden allowed herself to be swept away.

* * *

><p><em>A week previous. The Imperial Palace, Val Royeaux.<em>

Henriette was nervous. She hated court. All the ridiculous primping and cosmetics and hairdressing and corsets that were required aside, she knew very well that she did not have the right disposition to succeed in the cutthroat environment that surrounded Celene I. A summons that would have been a dream come true to any courtier, the invitation to a private tea with the Empress herself, was a dreaded ordeal for her. She had been brought to court when she was ten, and again when she was fifteen, and neither occurrence had engendered fond memories. She much preferred a more simple life upon her parents' estate, riding and tending to the horses she loved.

But when the Empress called, you answered. Which was how she found herself, cinched into elaborate pale green brocade, being announced by Celene's majordomo.

"Your Imperial Majesty. The Princess Henriette Mignonette Charlotte Amelie Valaigle."

"Ah, Henriette," Celene said graciously. "Do come in, my dear."

Henriette advanced gingerly into the room, thankfully managing to curtsey without tripping over her feet, which she tended to do when she was nervous. The Empress was magnificent in gold brocade, her red hair piled high and ornamented with gold dust. She indicated the fragile-looking chair opposite to her. "You have Our permission to sit."

Henriette did so carefully, cautious of her stiff skirts and waited, hands clasped together demurely upon her lap.

Celene surveyed her young cousin with a critical eye. Henriette was not a raving beauty by Orlesian standards, but her features were regular and she had nice eyes of the attractive green shade that told of her Imperial connection. Her light brown hair was abundant and her complexion had the freshness that only country life could give. She was a tall girl, and not uncoordinated-when she was not terrified half to death. Celene had seen her ride to the hunt, and on a horse, Henriette was grace personified. _She will suit well enough for this purpose, _the Empress decided. _Perhaps more than well. A simple Fereldan might find her more than pleasing._

Aloud, she said, "Tea? Will you have lemon? Cream? Sugar?"

"Lemon and sugar please, Your Imperial Majesty."

The Empress prepared the cup with her own hands and handed it across the table, which was filled with the most ornate confections imaginable, glazed and sugared and iced, some of them even decorated with edible silver and gold. Henriette took her cup and bowed her head.

"You have not been seen at court, Henriette," Celene chided gently. "We have missed Our cousin."

Henriette knew that was hardly the case, but an answer was required. "I am sorry to have caused you distress, Your Imperial Majesty. I will try to come to court more often in the future."

Celene took up a tiny iced cake and ate it daintily in three bites. "Do have some of these," she suggested when she was done. "They're very good-berry jam in the middle." Henriette did as she was bidden.

"Actually, We have a task that needs done and We think you would do it admirably. Always providing you are willing to be of service to the Empire."

There was only one possible response to that. "I am always willing to serve in any capacity Your Imperial Majesty may dictate."

"_Excellent! _Since you have been so much away from court, We do not know how informed you are upon current events. Were you aware that the Blight had been ended in Ferelden?"

"No, Your Imperial Majesty. But that is very good news, is it not?"

"Very good news indeed. And rather unexpected, to be honest. The Fifth Blight was the shortest one in history. It looks as if all those Wardens and Our troops who had assembled to fight it will not be needed after all. They've already dispersed. Which is good, because We can always use our chevaliers for other things. And We were not very happy at the idea of Blighted refugees trying to cross Our border." Celene sipped her tea. "The Grey Warden who ended the Blight was Corin Cousland." She gave Henrietta a meaningful look, which indicated this had significance. The young princess furrowed her brow and cudgeled her memory.

"Cousland? Papa said something once about him. About a marriage proposal, I think. Isn't he the son of a duke?"

The Empress nodded. "The second son of a teyrn, which is much the same to the Fereldans. Bryce Cousland was supposed to come to Orlais with him last year. The two of you would have met and We could have opened negotiations if you found each other pleasing. But then the Blight happened, and Arl Howe killed the Couslands, save for the two sons. Corin Cousland spent the year raising armies of allies to help fight the Blight, then approached Anora Theirin about an alliance, which she accepted. The two of them confronted her father in the Landsmeet and Teyrn Loghain fell in single combat."

"I had heard something of the teyrn's death," Henriette admitted. "Papa was very pleased, and held a big dinner in celebration. Did the Queen really go against her father?"

Celene's face grew still and ominously calm for a moment. "She did. Her father had disenfranchised her, made himself regent. He gave her no choice but to defy him."

Henriette kicked herself mentally. _You __**never**__ touch upon such things with the Empress, you country clod! _She fell silent and sipped her own tea, taking up one of the little cakes and nibbling it as cover.

"Queen Anora's alliance with Corin Cousland was cemented by their betrothal," the Empress continued after a moment. "He was named Crown Prince by the Landsmeet before the final battle at Denerim. Now that the Blight is over, they are to be wed in three weeks' time."

Henriette pondered this for a moment. "Isn't he my age?" she asked carefully. Celene seemed pleased for some reason, which was a relief, given her earlier faux pas.

"He is indeed! Or at least much closer to your age than Anora's. He just turned nineteen and you are what, seventeen now?"

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. Seventeen this last summer."

"In any event, the Fereldan queen is getting married and a new Fereldan king is being crowned. And it is only appropriate that the Orlesian Empire should have a member of the royal house present as witness. That is where you come in."

"Your Imperial Majesty?"

"We have selected a trio of well-bred broodmares from Montsimmard as a wedding gift. You might recollect that We gave Cailan Theirin a fine stallion as a wedding present?"

"I remember Sable. He was foaled on our lands." She had been a very young girl, but she recollected the feisty black foal that had been one of her first favorites.

"Was he? We had forgotten that." Henriette found that unlikely. Celene knew everything.

"In any event," the Empress continued, "most of Our other royal cousins are expecting children or for other reasons are unable to go. So We thought upon you, particularly since there are horses involved. Corin Cousland apparently likes them very well too. He's even a jouster, trained by Tallyvere himself. It occurred to Us that you might like to meet him and that he might find you less objectionable than some of Our other relatives."

"I am honored that Your Imperial Majesty would consider that I could be of service," Henriette said aloud, though inside she was quailing at the prospect of being sent upon a diplomatic mission. Not to mention at taking ship during storm season!

"Thank you, Henriette," Celene said with a satisfied smile. "You please Us greatly with your compliance in this matter. The wedding is in three weeks, so time is of the essence. The mares are at Jader, ready to be boarded upon the ship as soon as you arrive. We will of course send your chaperone with you, as well as Our new ambassador to Queen Anora's and King Corin's court. Lord DeMornay was aide to Our last ambassador there, and has spent much time studying the Fereldans. We know that you have no diplomatic experience, but if you do as he advises, you cannot go wrong. We may also have additional instructions for you once you arrive." The green eyes that were the only thing the two women held in common became opaque and jade-like for a moment.

"We shall expect you to follow any instructions We send to the best of your ability and to the letter, Henriette."


	49. Chapter 49

Thanks to Guest, Suilven, MrHam31, Mike3207, Anon, Vibrolux61, spectre4hire, Meatzman2, Genericrandom, Marvey4, none, LivewithHonour, borismortys, Blighted114, csorciere, Hr'awkryn, 17986, Ghosthands, Ronin Kenshin, SuperGravyMan, Nightbrainzz, M2J MandalorianJedi, thecelticspirit, karthik9, Zukafew119, and Katherian for the lovely reviews of the last and previous chapters. I think I responded to everyone. I tried to.

Corin and Anora tag-team in this one.

* * *

><p>"Grand Cleric Elemena."<p>

"Your Royal Highness. It is good of you to agree to speak to me. And generous of you to house my household here in the Palace."

"It was the least we could do, given the current situation," Corin Cousland said. The two of them were meeting in one of the nicer reception parlors in the palace. Neutral ground, since it was neither the royal quarters nor the suite that had been placed at the Grand Cleric's disposal. "I trust that you are comfortable?"

"Very comfortable. Though I have done so, I hope that you will commend your staff as well for their care of me."

A decidedly imperious wave of the hand. "Consider it done." The future King of Ferelden gestured to a chair near the fire. "Would you care for tea?"

"That would be lovely." He went to ring the servants' bell and spoke in low tones to the servant who came to the door to answer. The man departed and he came back to the fire, settling himself in the other chair.

Elemena settled herself more deeply into hers and regarded the young man across from her with a cautious wariness which did not show itself in her pleasant expression. This interview would be critical, would set the tone for their entire relationship in years to come. She had to act as if she were in a position of spiritual supremacy, despite the current disarray of the Fereldan Chantry.

The Hero of Ferelden had dressed somberly for her audience in black velvet, his sword belted at his side and his coronet gleaming bright against the night-black of his hair. It would be a mistake, Elemena knew, to equate that fresh young face with someone who was not politically astute in the extreme. He'd made the Landsmeet and the Queen dance to his tune. Elemena had seen him do it. To underestimate Corin Cousland, to dismiss him merely as a hot-headed young man with the luck of ten men and a phenomenal sword arm would be a fatal error.

"I notice that you did not include the Queen in your request," he remarked casually.

"I did not," Elemena admitted. "I have known the Queen since she was a young girl. She is a credit to the Faith. I have not had such an opportunity to get to know you, and I wished to do so before the wedding."

His eyebrow lifted and he smiled. It was a charming smile, but she suspected that beneath it, he was as wary as she. "So-am I to consider this pre-wedding counseling?"

"If you like. There were a couple of other issues I wished to raise as well, but they can wait for later."

"As Your Grace wishes." Elemena nodded graciously.

There was a knock at the door just then and a tea trolley appeared. It had obviously been prepared in advance, given its swift arrival. The Prince addressed the elven woman who had brought it.

"Thank you, Araminta. This looks lovely. Are these _your_ scones here?" The woman, who was middle-aged and with the no-nonsense look about her common to upper echelon house staff, suddenly smiled and glowed like a girl.

"They are, Your Royal Highness. And Maisie's cookies."

"Then we will be well fed indeed! Please thank Maisie for me as well. And everyone else in the kitchen-this was good service."

Araminta curtseyed. "I will, Your Royal Highness. She curtseyed again. "Your Grace," and departed. The Prince looked at Elemena. "Would you be so kind as to pour, Your Grace? I shall do my best to answer any questions you may have."

After pouring the tea (and finding that the Prince's idea of proper tea was more cream and sugar than tea itself), Elemena started with the expected, innocuous inquiries about his early religious instruction.

"I was most incensed to learn about Mother Maillol," she commented after his account of that. "I wrote a forceful protest to both the Regent and Lord Howe when I discovered what had transpired at Highever. Her death was inexcusable!"

"_None_ of the deaths there were excusable," came the Prince's cool rejoinder, "including _my father's_." The temperature in the room seemed to drop palpably, and Elemena found herself back-peddling.

"Of course. I did not mean to imply otherwise, Your Royal Highness." He inclined his head in gracious acknowledgement.

Moving quickly on past the massacre at Highever, Elemena went on to the thing she was most curious about, the Prince's quest for the Sacred Ashes. "I have talked at length with Affirmed Leliana about the experience," she said. "But I should like to know your thoughts."

"I _have_ wondered why it was that I was allowed, with as many unbelievers as I had with me at the time, to find the Ashes," the Prince said mildly. "Particularly when so many faithful, devout knights met horrible deaths at the hands of the dragon-cultists. I have to believe that Andraste had decided that the right time had come for the discovery. And that perhaps She is not as particular as some believe about the tools She uses to do Her work." His mouth curled wryly. "Did I succeed where the others failed because of some personal worthiness I'm unaware of? Or was it just because I had enough truly formidable warriors at my back? How will we ever know?"

"Your modesty does you credit, Sire." A decidedly ironic smile answered this. Elemena pressed on. "Affirmed Leliana says that you still have the pouch the Ashes resided in."

"I do. Would Your Grace care to see it?" Startled, Elemena nodded. "Then you'll have to excuse me." The Warden Prince undid the top few hooks on his doublet and the top of the lacing on the shirt beneath, enough so that his hand could reach down inside and bring up the small black leather pouch. He pulled the lace over his head, and presented the pouch to Elemena, refastening his garments while she turned it over in her hand.

After a moment's hesitation, she opened it. The faint, silvery residue that remained caused her to catch her breath in awe. After a long moment's perusal, she closed the pouch carefully.

"And you say that the Ashes healed Arl Eamon?"

"They did. Totally. After all the mages and physicians that could be found had given up on him. And it was nearly instantaneous."

"What is your opinion upon the expedition to the temple that is planned for the spring? Do you feel that it is sacrilege?"

"Brother Genitivi was amazed by just one section of carvings near the door of the temple. He said that they would give us more information about Andraste's life than we had had before. I think that he was led there and I absolutely think that the Temple should be researched and studied."

"But what of the Ashes themselves? Should they be made available to pilgrims?"

A rather quirky smile manifested upon the Prince's face then, and his eyes were suddenly twinkling. "Parden me, Your Grace, but whatever makes you think that that is _our _decision to make?"

"What do you mean?"

"Andraste can take care of Herself. The Gauntlet is there for a reason. I strongly suspect that it won't be available to those who are unworthy. The Temple is separate from the temple that holds the Gauntlet. I suspect that the first will be able to be examined in depth, and worshipped in by almost anyone, but that only few worthy souls will ever see the other building and have the chance to come to the Ashes."

"It will be very interesting to see if you are correct about that. Would you tell me what _you_ experienced in the Gauntlet?"

"No, Your Grace." Elemena frowned.

"Surely you do not think _me_ an inappropriate recipient of such knowledge?"

"It was a very private and personal matter, Your Grace. The sort of thing you don't necessarily impart even to a spiritual counselor of Your Grace's standing. And to be honest, I don't think it would do you any good. As I told the Queen when she asked, I don't think the tests that I faced were the same ones someone else would face. I think that they are tailored to each individual pilgrim. Though I will say that they were meant to be difficult and trying and made one reflect. And that they were deadly if you failed. We passed several dead bodies as we made our way through the Gauntlet."

To press any further would only antagonize the young man and that was not Elemena's purpose here today. She pulled the laces tight on the pouch once more.

"This is a great blessing you were given, Your Royal Highness. If we are never able to come to the Ashes again, then this may well be the only trace of Them that we will ever have." She made to give the pouch back to him, only to be forestalled by an upraised hand.

"If you think that the pouch would be of use, placed in a shrine in the Chantry where common folk could come and pray and be heartened, then by all means take it, Your Grace. Upon reflection it occurs to me that I might have been selfish, keeping it to myself."

"This is a _very_ generous gift, Your Royal Highness!" Elemena was surprised. "We have several lovely reliquaries that have been donated, just waiting for such relics. I will see about having it installed in the new Chantry, when it is built."

"The _new_ Chantry, Your Grace?"

"Yes. That is one of the items which I wished to discuss with you today." Elemina reached into the folio she'd brought with her and presented the Prince with a sheaf of parchments, closely covered with numbers and writing. "This is the estimate for having the Denerim Chantry totally razed and rebuilt. I'm sure that the Crown of Ferelden will see that it is only meet and fitting that this be done as soon as possible. This figure below is the monies that the Chantry has available for this project. This number here," and her finger helpfully pointed it out, "is the Crown's share of the cost."

That eyebrow flicked upward again, though the young man's face was impassive. "I see. I think that you are a bit…optimistic about what the Crown will be able to contribute, Your Grace, given that much of Ferelden's farmland is currently Blighted and we will be importing grain to feed our folk, perhaps for as much as a decade. As it turns out, I have some numbers of my own to give _you_, if you will indulge me." He got up and moved over to a small secretary that stood against one wall and setting her papers aside, swiftly penned a note. Waving it about for a minute so that it would dry, he then folded it and rang the servants' bell. When the knock came at the door, he opened it and handed the note out with some murmured instructions Elemena did not hear, then closed it behind him. Gathering the papers back up and returning to his seat, he smiled at the Grand Cleric.

"That will take a little time to reach the right person, and a little more for him to get back to me with what I need. In the meantime, perhaps you can tell me why you think razing and rebuilding is necessary." His eyes moved swiftly down the first page. "I notice here that you have moneys allotted to buy up adjoining properties and increase the size of the Chantry by over one half. Why are you considering such a sizeable expansion?"

Elemena was a little startled at the speed with which he read and absorbed. "You must admit, Your Royal Highness, that the Denerim Chantry is small and antiquated and inadequate for the tasks which it is called upon to perform."

His glance flicked up for a moment, then returned to scanning. "Must I? The times I've been in there, it's always seemed more than adequate. Rather homey and comforting, actually. What it lacks in grandeur is more than made up in history."

"That's very kind of you to say so, Your Royal Highness. But as the chantry of the city of Andraste's very birthplace, it is hardly on par with the chantries of other sovereign nations-Val Royeaux, Llomerryn. Even Starkhaven and Kirkwall have more impressive Chantry complexes."

Those penetrating blue eyes lifted over the upper edge of the papers once more, skewering her where she sat. "Denerim is _hardly_ Val Royeax!" the Prince declared without a trace of shame or envy. "And while I can sympathize with your desire to bolster Ferelden's spiritual significance in the wider world with architectural excess, Your Grace, I'm afraid I can't condone it." His finger tapped the papers. "The Chantry's share of the costs you mention here is _also_ Ferelden's, for those funds were donated by her people through their tithes to the Chantry. And I would think that you would be more worried about succoring those people spiritually and physically in their time of great need with those funds than with a…oh, _here's_ a good line item-'a chapel with a mural depicting Andraste burning at the stake, done in mosaic with real gold leaf foil'. " His eyes narrowed of a sudden. "And since this has gone well beyond taking my spiritual measure and into the realm of kingdom business, I'm sure you won't mind if I see if the Queen would care to join us."

* * *

><p>Whereupon the Prince sent off word to the Queen, then politely refused to speak upon the matter further until he learned if Anora wished to join them or not. He regaled Elemena while they waited with some humorous tales of the wedding preparations. But as he did so, the Grand Cleric was all too aware of the firm resolve beneath the Cousland charm.<p>

Anora did in fact join them at the same time as the person Corin had summoned earlier did. He was a slender young man with a myopic air who was introduced as Miles and he carried a sheaf of papers much the same size as the Grand Cleric's.

"I only slay dragons. Miles crunches numbers and makes our budgets work. I think he might have the harder job of it," the Prince said cordially. Miles beamed for a moment, then bent his head close to the Prince's as he flicked through his sheaf of papers, obviously confirming that he'd brought everything Cousland needed. He bobbed a bow to the three of them and was dismissed with a smile of thanks. The Prince handed Anora the Grand Cleric's proposed new chantry budget.

"Take a seat and have a look at those, love," he said, gesturing towards his chair. Anora did so while Cousland picked up the secretary's wooden chair and brought it over, seating himself in it with his long legs thrust out in front and crossed at the ankle. "Do you want some tea?"

"Not right now," she commented absently, as her eyes moved down the pages as swiftly as his had. "I just had some a while ago. Are you comfortable in that chair and have you looked at all of these?"

"Yes, and just the first couple of pages. Her Grace was kind enough to point out the most pertinent numbers."

"What did Miles bring you?"

"_Our _estimates for the restoration of the Denerim chantry."

"I'll want to see that too when I'm done with this."

"Of course."

She read further into the documents than Corin had, giving him the third and fourth pages when she had finished them, while he handed her the documents Miles had brought. Elemena watched and sipped her tea, noting the occasional silent looks of accord between the two of them.

"The rest of Her Grace's documents is more descriptions of contracts and line items?" Anora asked of Cousland when she had done reading. He nodded.

"As far as I can tell."

"And what have you told Her Grace?"

His shoulders shrugged. "Only that I thought her estimate of what the Crown could contribute to this venture was…optimistic."

"I should say so!" The Queen of Ferelden actually snorted. "You are aware, Your Grace, that we have just suffered _a Blight_?"

"Of course I am aware of that, Your Majesty," Elemena said a bit frostily.

"Then how can you even _attempt_ to justify something like this? We have just spent a considerable amount of money paying captains to bring us grain from Orlais and the Free Marches to feed our people this winter. This required paying them _triple _the usual fee for sailing in the storm season! And you want to build a _new Chantry_ right now?"

"In all due honesty, Anora, the workmens' wages _would_ boost the local economy," the Crown Prince noted helpfully. He did not sound entirely sincere to Elemena.

"The Denerim chantry is uninhabitable!" she said defensively. "Why not rebuild it bigger and better when we have the opportunity?"

"But it's _not _uninhabitable. It's marked as 'salvageable' in our census of Denerim's buildings and their damage," the Queen said, handing the pertinent page to the Grand Cleric. "Not 'condemned'." Elemena scanned it, her nostrils flaring in outrage.

"This 'salvaging process' you describe means bringing _mages_ in to burn the Taint away with magic, then restoring the interior afterwards! That is not going to happen!"

"Whyever not?" the Crown Prince, his expression bland. "Turns out magical fire is better than regular fire for clearing the Taint. And it's less likely to catch the whole Chantry on fire if it's done right. And if the Chantry _does _catch on fire-well, it's a stone building and an old, well-built one. We've allowed for the possibility of having to replace the roof totally there in the larger of the two estimates. We scorch it good, check it for Taint, get workmen in to repair any burn damage, put a new roof on if necessary and build new pews and furniture and you're good to go. In a few months at the most, as opposed to three to ten years, which is what it would take to build this new chantry complex as you've proposed it. I would think you'd be _happy_ to be restored to normalcy in that amount of time. A lot of other people _won't _be."

"You _cannot_ desecrate the house of the Maker with magic in such a way!"

Those two pairs of blue eyes met again before Anora spoke. "I do not see why you cannot simply re-consecrate the Chantry again when the rebuilding is done. The ceremony would be lovely and would put heart into the people. And surely a re-consecration would settle any concerns about the use of magic."

"Unless what you're saying is that the Maker's blessing is _less_ powerful than magic," the man who had found Andraste's Ashes said. Elemena found herself almost spluttering at the very idea and had to restrain herself.

"No, I did not mean to imply that."

"Then there's no problem!" the Prince exclaimed cheerfully.

"And that's as well, because this new chantry is _not_ going to happen, Your Grace," came the Queen's firm statement. "Unless the Chantry can fund it in entirety itself. Most everyone in Ferelden is suffering at present. Every subject, including the Crown, is going to have to sacrifice to see that everyone survives this winter and beyond. We are doing our wedding with the least expense possible, using materials and things we already possess. The most money we're spending for the ceremony is for food for everyone in Denerim, so that they can go to bed with a full stomach at least one night this winter." Her glance met Corin's again.

_Tossing the ball back,_ Elemena realized. This was a much different dynamic than she'd experienced during those times she'd interviewed the Queen and King Cailan together. The late King had tended to joke jovially (but respectfully), but leave any decisions to Anora. What she was seeing now was a much more equal partnership, and perhaps even more than that. With time, Corin and Anora together might become more formidable than either already formidable individual was singularly.

"That is not to say that we are not blind to the fact that the Chantry has suffered losses as well," the Prince said, catching that ball. "We are willing to re-build the Denerim chantry under the conditions we've described and to contribute towards the re-building of chantries that have been tainted in places like Dragon's Peak. It has yet to be determined if places as badly tainted as Lothering can ever be restored. But we feel it vital and of the highest priority that the chantries be returned to those whose lives are in tumult from the Blight."

"It is good that Your Majesty and Your Royal Highness are so conscious of the importance of the Maker and his Bride in the lives of your subjects." Her dreams of a new and magnificent Denerim chantry fading before her, Elemena's defeat was couched in platitude.

"Of course we are, and we very much appreciate the work your mothers and brothers and sisters are doing among the refugees," Anora said.

"Have _you_ been down in the refugee camps, Your Grace?" the Prince asked so genially that it took a moment for Elemena to realize that she was in fact being _chided_ by this very young man! "Your people are doing magnificent work there. I particularly commend to you Mother Boann, Mother Perpetua, Sister Theohild, Sister Agnetha, Brother Genetivi and Brother Silus. The Chanters too-Chanter Rosamund has a hugely busy board down there, what with missing people and folk who need things. They're really doing the Chantry credit. I hope you'll reward them as they deserve."

"I will certainly take your recommendations under advisement, Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness," Elemena said, trying to keep her jaw from clenching. "Although while we are on the subject of personel, we come to another matter I hoped to discuss with the Crown. Since you are both present, now might be a good time. Your Majesty, Revered Mother Devera has been your confessor for a number of years now. Are you willing to have her continue in that capacity after the wedding?"

"I am. Our relationship is very comfortable."

"I am sure that she will be happy to hear of that." The Grand Cleric turned her attention a bit more warily to the Prince. "And have you given any thought to a King's Confessor, Your Royal Highness? I know that you have been without consistent spiritual guidance for some time now. I'm sure Revered Mother Devera would be happy to serve you in that capacity as well."

"I'm sure she would, but I don't know that it's fair to her for her to have to deal with both Anora and myself." He shot a grin in Anora's direction. Elemena saw the Queen's lips twitch into a tiny smile in response.

"If you will not have the Revered Mother, then I can give you a list of names of Mothers you might find appropriate to interview."

"That's very kind of Your Grace, but it's not necessary. After giving it some thought, I'd like Sister Agnetha to be my confessor."

The Grand Cleric forced a smile. "Ah yes, Sister Agnetha. Revered Mother Devera spoke to me of your two encounters with her, Your Royal Highness. I am very pleased that she made such a good impression upon you, but surely you can see that she would be an inappropriate choice? She has little experience of worldly matters."

The Prince leaned back in his chair. "And why would I need a _politician_ to advise me _spiritually_, Your Grace? I've got plenty of those on the Privy Council."

"What I mean to say is that a cleric with more experience of the pressures a royal may face might be of better service. Perhaps even a cleric from a more…noble background. Mother Jelenna would be more qualified on that account."

"I've got nobles a-plenty on the Privy Council as well. I want Agnetha precisely _because _she has the common touch."

"The Prince and I are discussing the possibility of having certain influential commoners be given positions upon the Privy Council," the Queen put in.

"Agnetha is not of sufficient rank to be a Royal Confessor, surely you can see that, Your Royal Highness! She was only recently made a sister."

"I asked her a very difficult question and she gave me a good answer. If _I'm_ not bothered by her lack of status, then what's the problem? And if her low rank truly bothers _you_ that much, Grand Cleric…well, you have the means to rectify that, don't you?"

The absolute effrontery of that suggestion stunned Elemena to silence for a moment. And rattled as she was, her next argument was one that she might not have used, had her mind been clearer.

"Your Royal Highness, I must speak candidly. For yourself, a young man going to his marriage, an older woman would be a much more appropriate choice for this post, rather than a pretty young one. You would not want scandal and gossip at the start of your reign, would you?"

If Elemena had thought the temperature in the room had dropped at the mention of Highever, it was cold as the southern wastes now. The Prince rose to his feet with shocking suddenness, towering over her.

"Your Grace, you are speaking to a man whose Order was falsely accused of betraying and killing the former King. A man whose father was falsely accused of treason and collusion with the Orlesians. I survived those accusations. I care _nothing_ for gossip, and you verge upon offense when you imply that my choice of Agnetha has something to do with her physical appearance. It does not. But she _is_ my final choice for confessor, and if you do not care to grant my request, as is certainly your privilege, then I will muddle along with whoever is on duty in the chantry when I have need of counsel, as do my subjects. Good day, Your Grace." With a curt nod of his head, he spun on his heel and was out of the room before Elemena could even think to say anything.

"Corin is _not_ Cailan," the Queen said softly as she too rose. "And while I appreciate your concern, I have no fear of being cuckolded this time, Your Grace. He is, first and foremost, a man of his word. Do not make the mistake of thinking that he will bend on this matter in time. He will not. You may do with that knowledge what you will." She inclined her head proudly, and her voice slid smoothly into royal mode. "We thank you for taking the time to speak with Us, Your Grace. Know that We are always glad to do so," and swept out of the room in her betrothed's wake.

* * *

><p><em>Unto Her Holiness Divine Justinia V does her most humble servant, Grand Cleric Elemena of Ferelden give greeting.<em>

_Your Holiness,_

_I apologize for my lack of communication, but as Your Holiness may know, things have been very chaotic here. Denerim itself was evacuated before the onslaught of the Archdemon and the darkspawn horde and the city is only just now starting to return to a vestige of its former self. In fact, myself and many clergy are currently housed in the Palace, as the Chantry is uninhabitable at present. I have appended a census of all of our Chantry brethren who have made themselves known to me here in Denerim. I hosted many clergy from the more southern regions as they evacuated in the face of the Blight, but I cannot speak for the survival of any who did not report here, though I am hopeful that others we may believe have perished will turn up in time._

_While there have been loses, both among our holy brethren and the populace at large, we have been spared much, as if by the hand of the Lady herself. She has shown Herself in many ways over this last year, among which are the finding of Her Ashes and the quick end of the Blight, the shortest in history. _

_With the royal wedding and coronation nigh, I recently interviewed Corin Cousland, both in an effort to determine his spiritual health and to get some idea as to how he would interact with the Chantry after he is crowned King of Ferelden._

_I found the Crown Prince a young man who is extremely confident in his own judgment. He is strong-willed for one of his tender years. This is not surprising, given that he has defeated a Blight, won himself a crown and found the resting place of Our Lady, all in the short span of little more than a year. And I fear that he is entirely too comfortable with magic, almost flippant about its perils. It is said that one of his companions during the Blight year was a powerful apostate mage, who participated in the cleansing of the Circle Tower. When Knight-Commander Gregoir rightly attempted to take her into custody afterwards, the Crown Prince actually threatened him with death! As the Knight-Commander was sorely needed, what with the Circle in total disarray, he was forced to stand down. Said apostate vanished after the Battle of Denerim and her whereabouts are currently unknown._

_Corin Cousland is also making very free use of the Ferelden Circle-as healers, having them use their magic to purge Denerim of the taint and encouraging them to research ways to cleanse the Blighted areas outside of the city. One of the Senior Enchanters has even been contracted out to the Grey Wardens, to aid in clearing the last of the darkspawn. This troubles me. It is very easy to be seduced by the gifts magic brings, harder to discern the danger. I fear that the Crown Prince himself has been thoroughly seduced and that the people will be as well, if the mages are left at large for too long. Their courage in the battle was undeniable and the populace is grateful to them. That gratitude may slacken the vigilance that is necessary when dealing with mages._

_In terms of his spiritual life, the Crown Prince is actually a very devout individual, as might be expected of someone who was able to find the Ashes of Andraste. He has even been so kind as to donate the pouch in which the Ashes resided to the Denerim chantry. But this spiritual success has also engendered in him a rather unbecoming arrogance. He has definite opinions upon what the Chantry should be doing and even had the effrontery to tell me as much! _

_Neither he nor the Queen were willing to contribute towards the building of a new Chantry in Denerim, sore-needed as it is, though they were very complimentary of our brethren and their work among the refugees and they did commit to aiding in the rebuilding of the other chantries throughout the country that have been damaged by the Blight. They insist upon reclaiming the old Chantry by purging the Taint from it with magic, despite my objections, and are very much a united front in this. Unlike the late King Cailan, who had little interest in spiritual matters and preferred the Queen to interact with the clergy, Corin Cousland seems determined to take a more active hand in the monarchy's relationship with the Chantry. And the Queen is absolutely in accord with the Crown Prince-he apparently has her entire confidence. So appealing to her to reason with him will be of little use._

_In closing summation, I assure you that I will be keeping a watchful eye upon the situation here, to make sure that the current crisis does not give rise to heresy of any sort. Ferelden requires a strong monarchy to lead it through this troubled time, but as Your Holiness knows only too well, the worldly concerns of a strong monarchy can come into conflict with our spiritual concerns only too easily._

_Yours in faith and service,_

_Elemena_


	50. Chapter 50

Thanks to all the folks who nudged me! I know this chapter has taken a while, but at least it's a good, long one! Guest, Bob Rikje, DeltaCortis, Lokken.B, Vaanarash, 123, White Ivy, another Guest, innerMalice, xseikax, Swanboy, Zukafew119, crashingmirth, SuperGravyMan, Kaylen87, Trooper007, FellowNrd, MrHam31, Uriel, spectre4hire, Liso66, thecelticspirit, none, lazyguy90, VGGirl95, Aeonir, Hr'awkryn, 17986, Marvey4, Sayle, csorciere, Mike3207, Ronin Kenshin, thaux, reality deviant, FireKing500, RakeeshJ4, karthik9, TeninChwang, and Vibrolux62-I appreciate your suggestions and support more than I can say. I was amazed at the amount of new people who chipped in last chapter and am gratified by those who keep coming back.

There will be a wedding, I promise! I'm finishing up some loose ends first. Part of this chapter is for Mike3207. He'll know which part.

* * *

><p>"So. This Agnetha you were so insistent upon. What is she like?" Anora asked later that night, when the loving was done and she lay, sated and comfortable, upon Corin's shoulder. He'd pulled the covers up close about them both.<p>

"You've met her. Or seen her, to be precise. She was the sister who sang at your father's funeral."

The Queen's brow furrowed as she thought back. Grief had narrowed her focus down to the immediate that day, but she did remember an exquisite voice. "Her singing was lovely, but I don't remember much about her," Anora admitted. "Isn't she blond?"

"She is."

"And is she as pretty as the Grand Cleric says?"

Her betrothed's shoulder shrugged beneath her.

"I suppose she is. The sort of prettiness that most healthy country girls have before they have five or six children."

His dismissive attitude was reassuring, but Anora felt compelled to point something out. "Since she's in the Chantry, Corin, she won't be having those children, so she may very well keep that prettiness."

"True enough. Though it really doesn't signify, Anora."

To pursue that line of inquiry further would only antagonize, and Corin was a man of his word. The Queen wisely moved on. "So why exactly are you so set upon this?"

Corin's brow furrowed. "That's difficult to explain in a way that won't have you thinking I'm barking mad."

"Try me."

"The morning of the Landsmeet, I went to the Chantry very early because I couldn't sleep. Brother Genitivi was there and we talked for a while. He asked if I would like a Mother's blessing before I went and I said I would. But there weren't any Mothers available-they were all praying with the Revered Mother. There was just this one Sister on Chantry duty. That was Agnetha. She'd just been made a Sister. Genitivi told her she needed to give me a blessing. She said she'd never done it before, but he insisted. I thought it was rather sweet and said I'd be glad to have her first blessing. So she gave it her best try, though she was obviously nervous." He smiled reminiscently.

"I thought I _felt _something when she did it, Anora, some feeling of warmth or love from…somewhere else.. It was very heartening. And certainly the Landsmeet turned out well for _me_." He gave the Queen an apologetic look.

"It's all right, Corin," she assured him, cuddling closer. He smiled, relieved, and continued his tale.

"So when I was about to set out for Redcliffe, I had Agnetha sent for. There was something I wanted to ask her. I was curious about what she would say. And I wanted another blessing."

"This was the difficult question you mentioned to Elemena?" He nodded.

"You know about the Grey Warden who kills the Archdemon dying. Well, Riordan said that was because the Archdemon's soul collided with the Warden's when it tried to enter the Warden's body, using the Taint. He said both the souls were destroyed and that was why the Archdemon could be killed. That idea was rather troubling to me." Seeing the expression of reminiscent distress upon his face, Anora shivered in sympathy.

"I can just imagine! What did Agnetha say about it?"

"That she felt that was not the case, and explained why, using some rather domestic terms, if you must know. It was comforting, but I thought for a moment that I was going to have to restrain her from hunting Riordan down and taking him to task! Then she blessed me again, or started to."

"'Started to'?"

Another nod. "It started out normally enough, but suddenly she stopped in the middle of it and cocked her head as if she were listening. And when she spoke again, her voice had changed, and I realized that someone or _something_ else was speaking through her. Her voice and manner were entirely different. I had knelt with my sword drawn and when she put her hand upon Starfang, it lit up."

Anora turned her head to look at her betrothed more directly. "You're not saying…"

He smiled ruefully. "I told you you would think I was crazy."

"Was anyone else there to witness this?"

"No. I'd summoned her to the Royal Chapel so that we could speak privately. It was, after all, a confession of sorts and it involved Grey Warden secrets."

"What did this other…personage have to say?"

"The Voice started by quoting to me something that Morrigan had said to me once. Said to me in private one night while we were together. Something no one else could possibly have known. Certainly not Agnetha, who hadn't even met any of my companions at that point."

"And that was?"

"That survival had meaning and power had meaning and that those were the only things that mattered."

"That does sound like Morrigan, judging from my very brief acquaintance with her. So this Voice told you the same thing? It was basically saying that was true?"

"Oh no. It wanted to know how I had answered her."

"Did you tell it?"

"I was rather afraid not to, if you must know! So I said that I had told her that without love, survival and power were meaningless, that life was without joy. And that love was the greatest power of all. It liked that answer."

"It did?"

"Yes. It told me that I should listen to my heart more and my head less, and that love would be my salvation, perhaps more than once. Then Agnetha seemed to suddenly wake up and she finished her blessing as if nothing had happened. I don't think she remembers anything about it."

"That's…that's rather extraordinary. So you want Agnetha as your confessor because you think _Andraste_ is speaking through her?"

"In part. Also because she's wise for her years, and compassionate, and doesn't give a fig for the Chantry's status when she decides to do something. Those brothers and sisters and mothers who are down there in the dirt with the refugees are the _true _clerics, if you ask me. After my two encounters with her, the Revered Mother decided to keep Agnetha close during the evacuation. She didn't want anything to happen to her, since she had the royal favor. But Agnetha gave her the slip and went out with Mother Boann and Brother Genitivi to help the refugees. Organized a bunch of them and got grain from Fergus to feed them. And she's been down there ever since."

"She sounds like a very holy person."

"I think that she is."

"Perhaps she should confess me as well then," Anora suggested, though she wasn't actually serious. Corin looked at her for a moment, then grinned.

"If you would like, you could suggest that to the Grand Cleric. Really put the pressure on."

"I think I will keep my confessional arrangements the way they are. But it is the most extraordinary story."

"It is, isn't it? I shan't blame you if you don't believe me."

"Oh, I believe you. If it were anyone but you…no. But all the extraordinary things that happen around you…it's certainly not implausible."

Anora had thought that he would find her statement reassuring. To her surprise, she felt him tense beside her and the diffident, blank mask came over him.

Alarmed, she asked, "Corin? What's the matter?"

He took a long moment before he answered, and when he did so, his expression was grave.

'There's something else I need to tell you. And when I have done so, I will understand if you go screaming to the Grand Cleric for an annulment."

A chill ran down Anora's spine. "Whatever are you talking about?"

"When I was unconscious after slaying the Archdemon…I had a sort of dream. Or maybe it was a vision."

"A _vision_?"

"Yes. I was on the beach at Highever, and it was apparently before the massacre ever happened, because I was happy and at peace. And there I met a fisher girl named Bridey…"

* * *

><p>Anora was silent as Corin told the tale of his visionary encounter. Though it was obvious that whatever had happened had moved him greatly, his manner was dispassionate as he recounted it. She wasn't entirely sure what to think, other than that he was telling her what he knew to be the truth of the matter. <em>How many times did I pray to you, Lady, during the battle and afterwards, to keep him safe? Why then, is it so hard to believe that you might have actually <em>_**done**__ so?_

"I notice you're still here. Didn't fling yourself screaming out of the bed or anything. That's promising," came her betrothed's mildly flippant remark when he was done, though she could detect actual worry upon his countenance. "So-what do you think? Did it actually happen? Or was my mind playing tricks on me? You would think that if I were manufacturing divine approval for my plans for Ferelden, She would have simply told me that She thought it was a wonderful idea and blessed me for it, instead of giving me the warnings about the sorrow and death that might happen if I tried."

Anora turned into his shoulder a little, and met his eyes. "That might be true. But you yourself, I suspect, are conflicted about that. You think it should be done, but you fear what will befall our people if you do it. So you might have made Andraste reflect that indecision-in a backwards way, validation for your state of mind. Also, it did not escape my notice that She _was_ in full approval of your having done the ritual. And that was something I know that you are uneasy and guilty about, perhaps more than anything else."

"Good point," Corin said with a wry twist of the lips. "And I had had my skull cracked fairly recently as well. That needs to be taken into account. Though the vision still seems very vivid and clear to me, it could be argued that the injury was the cause of it. I guess I'll never really know for certain, and will just have to have faith that it happened." That germ of a smile broadened. "It's odd, isn't it, how the possibility that the divine beings you invoke for protection might actually be looking out for you is so unsettling?"

"I was just thinking something very like that myself."

"Really? Great minds and all that, I guess." There was a long moment of silence, then he said, in a softer, more somber voice, "Anora-is it wrong, do you think, to want to make us greater than what we are? If there is the chance that it will call the storm down upon us?"

She laid her hand upon his where it lay upon his chest and it slid from beneath hers to cover her own in turn. Beneath her palm, she could feel his heart beating, strong and steady. "Great reward requires great risk, you know that better than anyone, Corin. Cailan gave me free rein in a lot of areas, but ultimately I knew that he was not one for changing the status quo, for shaking things up. He was content with Ferelden as she was. The university is just one example. He thought it unnecessary where you see that it is needed." Anora moved her head just the tiniest bit, so that her lips could brush Corin's cheek.

"I honestly don't know if your vision of Andraste was true or not. But I wholeheartedly commend your vision for Ferelden."

* * *

><p>"Here you go," Corin said, handing Sten a flat package swathed in cloth. The two of them were on the Denerim docks, their only audience in the growing light of dawn Corin's guard and the occasional glance from the sailors bustling about aboard <em>The Unicorn<em>, as they prepared to set sail.

There had been a farewell dinner the night before for the Qunari, but at his request, only Corin had accompanied him this morning. He examined the package almost warily, turning it over and over again in his huge hands.

"What is this, _kadan_?"

"Open it and find out." Sten did so, to find a masterfully done oil painting in an ornate frame. A pair of stately mabari reclined in dignified majesty while surrounded by their frolicking puppies.

"For your collection. I don't want you to ever forget the smell of wet dog on the morning breeze."

The corners of the giant's mouth twitched upwards momentarily. "You need have no fear of _that_, _kadan_. The smell of the garbage also left an indelible impression." He re-wrapped the picture carefully.

"Hey! I'm working on that one!" the future king of Ferelden protested. Removing a large covered basket from his arm, he presented that to Sten as well.

"The cookies are from Maisie. I think she's heartbroken to be losing her best patron. I don't know how well they'll keep at sea, so you might want to go ahead and eat them during the first days of the journey." Corin peeled back the towel covering them and pulled out a clanking package. "A set of Fereldan measures." Replacing them, he extracted a slender parchment booklet. "Some of Maisie's recipes. The ones you liked best." He assumed an expression of profound gravity. "You now possess the means to bring the bliss of cookie baking to your people. Use your power for good, not evil."

Sten snorted as Corin put the booklet back into the basket and handed it to him, but then his lips curled up into one of his rare and genuine smiles.

"Please thank Maisie for me. She certainly excels in her chosen role."

"I'll do that." A large purse was then produced from within the folds of Corin's cloak.

"This should see you back to Seheron or Par Vollen."

"Thank you, _kadan_." Sten accepted the purse and tied it onto his own belt.

A sealed letter was then offered to him. "And this is for your Arishok." Lifting a brow, the Qunari accepted it, taking a moment to slip it into the picture's wrappings. "I'm sorry that you won't be able to stay for the wedding," the Prince lamented.

"My duty dictates that I take the Arishok's answer back. And in another week or so, I wouldn't have been able to find a ship." The large body shuddered momentarily. "I was not looking forward to another Fereldan winter."

"Can't say I blame you. I'm not looking forward to it either."

"You have my…felicitations…on your union. Is that the correct thing to say?"

"It is."

The Qunari looked down and into Corin's eyes directly. "It must be said. You gave me my sword and my honor back. I owe you a great debt."

"You owe me _nothing_," came the Prince's swift response. "I seem to remember you following me into some pretty improbable adventures- even killing dragons and the like-though you undoubtedly had your reservations about a lot of it."

"That I did," Sten admitted.

There was a moment's silence. Then-"Indulge me if you will, Sten, one last time before you leave. Will you _please_ tell me what '_kadan_' means? Because you never have."

Another small smile from the grey giant. "We do not have families as you humans and elves and dwarves do. But nonetheless, we have people who are close to our hearts-companions in arms or at our labors, people with whom we share interests and joys and sorrows…"

"Friends?" Corin suggested. Sten considered for a moment, then nodded. "That is probably the closest equivalent as the word has been explained to me."

The Prince inclined his head. "Then I am honored."

"As am I, _kadan_. You are truly _basalit-an_."

"_Basalit-an_?"

"One not of the Qun who is worthy of respect. I would call you _qunoran-vehl _as well, since it seems closest to this title of 'hero' they bestow upon you, but I doubt you'd really appreciate it if I could."

"And why is that?"

The Qunari's lips twitched. "Because you have to be _dead_ to be declared _qunoran-vehl_. You would be too proud otherwise."

"Oh. I think I'll pass then."

"Understandable." Sten gave Corin a somber look. "The day may come when the Qunari come to Ferelden. When that day arrives, I will not look for you on the battlefield."

The Prince's face suddenly went cold and still, all humor gone, his eyes turning to blue ice. He stepped in close, right up against the Qunari's chest and hissed up at him, "Wise of you. Since I've _always_ been able to take you down."

Sten took a step back, lifted his head and actually _laughed_, the basso rumble echoing through the docks. When it was done, he said, "That you have, _kadan_! That you have." He shook his head in bemusement. "This role you have chosen for yourself, 'king'. It would seem to be part _Arishok, _part _tamassran _and part _Ben-Hassrath_-those we call 'the heart of the many'."

"'The heart of the many'?" The ice had gone as quickly as it had come. Now Corin looked thoughtful. "I like that. Yes, a king _is_ the heart of the many to his people. That's a fair description."

"Milord! You'd best come aboard. We're ready to sail!" one of the sailors called out to them. The Qunari reached his hand out to the Prince. They clasped forearms.

"Farewell, my…friend," Sten said gravely.

"Farewell Sten, my _kadan_."

Sten's possessions had already been stowed aboard the ship, which was just as well, given all his farewell presents. He started towards the ship, only to stop after taking a couple of strides and turn around.

"_Kadan_?"

"Yes, Sten?"

"That small _saarebas_. You really should find a lead for her."

Corin grinned. "An…_arvaraad_, I think you called it?"

"Since you have no other Qunari here, the lead would properly be called a _basvaraad_."

"She already has one. Alistair."

The Qunari's brows lifted, his expression dubious. "Hardly a decision to fill one with confidence."

"He might do better than you expect."

"That would not be very difficult."

Corin laughed, shaking his head. "A safe journey to you, my friend."

The Qunari inclined his own head in turn. "May you excel in your chosen role, _kadan, _and achieve more glory yet."

Sten went up the gangplank and onto the ship. Corin's guard looked at him expectantly, but he remained standing where he was, watching as the lines were cast off, sail was half-set and the ship began slowly moving out towards the sea. As the sun began to peek over the horizon, he saw a flash of blue from the stern, dawn light on blue steel. He held Starfang up in answer and star-metal flamed into brilliance for a long moment. Then both swords were sheathed, and Corin turned to his guards, this first departure of many to come bringing stark realization.

_The adventures are truly __**over**__. Time to be king._

* * *

><p>"Warden, I'm glad you're here," the gate guard said, obvious relief upon his face at Alistair and his company rode up. "We've got a situation."<p>

Puzzled, Alistair started to ask "A situation-", then Nerissa, seated behind him on the horse, felt his body stiffen and swivel as he stared at what looked to be a cage on a wagon, parked near the gate. "What in the Maker's name…there's Taint here."

"Like I said, a situation," the gate guard repeated. "The woman insists she needs to see a Warden, but I'm not letting her into the city with _that_."

"No, of course not. You were right to deny her entrance," Alistair said, his voice calm, but Nerissa could feel the tension in his body. "I'll talk to her."

"The woman" was in her late twenties, a countrywoman from the looks of her. There were other country folk with her, her husband and his family members judging from a certain similarity of feature in the men. "That" was snarling and prowling in a wooden cage upon the cart, which was drawn by an ox who seemed very unhappy

Nerissa wasn't sure what it was. It looked like a child of perhaps eight years, but its complexion was pallid and corpselike in the grey twilight, its eyes darkly bruised pits, its mouth an unhealthy plum color. Soiled and torn clothing hung from its emaciated form.

"What is it?" she murmured to Alistair, who was swinging down from his horse. He looked up at her in surprise as he lifted his arms to help her down. They'd been patrolling the areas around the city that day, just the two of them and six of the guard. Cauthrien was currently abed by Wynne's orders and would be for the next couple of days, having finally had her leg re-broken and properly set. Wynne seemed sure that the knight Warden would get full function back. At the very least, she'd be much better off and more comfortable than she'd been since Drakon.

It had been a day of on and off drizzle and bone-biting cold and damp. A preview, Nerissa suspected, of many such days in her future. Not that she minded. The alternative of life in the Circle, though physically more comfortable, was endless, grinding boredom. They'd only seen one darkspawn, a hurlock, and Nerissa had been able to slide off of the horse and kill it from a distance with staff blasts, to the applause of the soldiers.

"I'd forgotten you really weren't fighting darkspawn until the last battle," Alistair murmured. "You do it so well. But you never saw any of these traveling from the Circle to Redcliff?"

"No, we saw darkspawn, but most of the people had already gone."

"That's a ghoul-it's what happens when a person gets Tainted."

"It's a Tainted child?"

"_Was _a child," the Warden-Commander's expression was bleak, his voice low. "If it weren't caged like that, it would try to attack its own family. And after that it would run, seek out the darkspawn, and live with them until it perished. Duncan told me once that there was a theory that the nicer darkspawn equipment was made by human ghouls."

"What can you do for it?"

Alistair looked at her with sorrow in his eyes and did not answer.

* * *

><p>After sending the escort back up to quarters along with his horse, Alistair strode towards the woman, Nerissa at his side. He'd requested that she stay. "I might need your help, Nerissa. I'm sorry about that."<p>

"Of course. That's what I'm here for." She was suddenly glad for the Grey Warden tabard that Teyrna Eleanor and her ladies had worked up for her. Hopefully, it would lessen any hostility from these folk. A suspicion was growing within her that she wasn't going to like what was going to happen, and she knew that Alistair wouldn't either. _Misery shared is misery halved._

"Mistress, I'm Warden-Commander Theirin. What can I do for you?"

"Maker be praised! I came to Denerim to look for you, Warden," the woman said eagerly. "My name is Chelsa Aithley. This is my husband Piers and my brother-in-law Perry." She indicated the snarling ghoul-child. "This is my daughter, Fawn."

"How did your daughter come to be Tainted, mistress?" Alistair asked quietly.

"She…we're from Dragon's Reach, Warden-Commander. You know the horde passed through there?"

Alistair nodded. "I'm aware. I'll be coming over soon, to have a look."

"We live in one of the outlaying farmsteads and were fortunate that the darkspawn passed us by. Or so I thought." The woman blinked for a moment before pulling a handkerchief out of her skirt pocket.

"It was Fawn's cat. It vanished right before the horde passed through. We didn't see it for weeks. Fawn cried every night for the better part of the week-she loved that cat. And then one day, after she'd finally given up on it-it came back." She dabbed at her eyes.

"I was out in the garden, getting it ready for winter. Fawn was playing by the edge of the trees on our property. I saw the cat come out and knew right away that there was something wrong with it. But I was too far away! I shouted to Fawn, called her to run to me and started running to her. But all Fawn could see was that her Fluffy had come back to her. It wasn't until Fluffy attacked her that she knew something was wrong." Mistress Aithley sniffled and employed her handkerchief.

"I ran up and killed the cat with my hoe. But it had scratched and bitten Fawn. I washed the wounds with the drinking water I had with me, then carried her up to the house and cleaned them with the wound-wash my mother always swore by. I burned any of our clothes that had blood on them as well, to be safe." Alistair nodded. He seemed impressed. Nerissa thought upon it and realized that was probably quite a sacrifice for the average farm family. She'd done enough shopping now with Leliana to know that even plain clothing was expensive.

"But it didn't do any good," Mistress Aithley said dully. "Almost immediately, Fawn complained of a burning fever and before long we could tell that it wasn't the ordinary sort of wound fever."

"Chelsa and I talked then," Piers Aithley put in. "We'd heard that the Wardens had a cure for the Taint, and that there were Wardens in Denerim. So we decided to bring Fawn here, so that you could help her. But we knew that she might not be safe before long, so I built the cage for the wagon, put blankets and covers in so that it would be comfortable. Fawn didn't like it at first, but soon…soon she didn't care and we were glad we had it. I had to take to putting her food and water in on a long pole and cleaning it out likewise. As we traveled, she stopped eating the food we brought her." He nodded to his brother. "Perry got an idea and shot a squirrel. He threw that in, just as he'd shot it…and she tore it apart and ate it raw."

Perry Aithley shuddered a bit then. His voice, when he spoke, was almost identical to his brother's. "It was frightening, the way she tore into that thing. Surely you can help her, Warden?"

Alistair surveyed them all for a moment, his face grave. Given his usual discomfort with social situations, Nerissa was surprised to see that there was no waffling or indecisiveness now.

"You are not entirely correct, Mistresss Aithley. The Grey Wardens do not possess a cure for the Taint. Joining the Wardens can sometimes save someone who is Tainted, but not always. It just as often kills them."

He walked over more closely to the wagon and made a show of examining Fawn, though Nerissa suspected that was indeed just for appearances and that he could tell more about the child's status through his Warden senses.

Eventually he sighed. "Master and Mistress Aithley, the Wardens do not take children into their ranks as a rule. But I would have attempted it, were it possible to save your daughter. Unfortunately, she is fully transformed. There's a great variance in the way the Taint affects people-some hold on for weeks before fully turning, while others turn almost immediately. Was Fawn a delicate child?"

"Yes," Chelsa Aithley said, eyes tearing up. "She always tended towards colds and such." She stared up at Alistair. "You're saying that you can't help us, Warden?"

Alistair nodded. "At least as far as _curing_ her is concerned. If I were to attempt Joining Fawn, it would kill her certainly and most painfully. I honestly do not know how much of Fawn's consciousness remains or if she is suffering pain right now, but it's possible. I commend both of you for your love for your daughter. You took a dreadful risk to try to save her." He stared at them all for a moment, a distant look in his brown-gold eyes. "I don't sense Taint on any of you, so far. You've been lucky."

Piers Aithley shuddered. "I thought that it might be too late, particularly after she…changed. But I can't…I couldn't kill my daughter."

"I understand that." Alistair's voice was soft, gentle, yet there was an undercurrent of firm command beneath it. "You may leave it in my hands now. She can't hurt me and I will put her out of her pain as gently as I can." He looked up and found that the gate guard's sergeant had shown up.

"Warden. What can we do to help?"

"A couple of torches over here would be helpful. Not too close." The sergeant nodded and barked orders. Alistair turned to the Aithleys.

"You'll want to unyoke your ox, and move him away a bit. I'm sorry, but that wagon will have to be burned afterwards."

Master Aithley simply nodded, this new blow seeming to hardly register. His brother moved to deal with the ox. When the guards with torches arrived, Alistair turned to Nerissa, pulling his gauntlets off.

"Would you tuck these into your belt?" She did so, and he surveyed the wagon for a moment. The door was lashed shut with wire. "Easiest just to break in, I think." Moving closer, he reached into his belt pouch, pulled out a corked vial and set it on the ground beside the wagon. Then he drew his sword. Mistress Aithley whimpered, but he did not shove it through the bars and impale Fawn. He spoke to Nerissa instead.

"Senior Enchanter, Petrify Fawn, please."

Nerissa did so. Alistair moved as soon as she was done with the spell, with that swiftness that was always so startling from such a large, heavy-muscled man. Maric's blade made short work of the wooden bars, then was sheathed. The Warden-Commander reached into the hole he'd made and pulled the petrified ghoul-child out, wrapping one large arm about her, holding her to his chest. He sank to the ground, pulled up the vial with his free hand and popped the cork.

The Fawn-ghoul had been snarling when the Petrify hit her, so her mouth was conveniently open. The whole of the vial was emptied into it, then discarded. Alistair put his free hand over her mouth and jaw and waited for the spell to dissipate. When it did so and the ghoul began to struggle against his restraining arm, he clamped his hand tight before it could spit the liquid out. There was some thrashing and muted squalling, but it swallowed, whereupon he released its jaw, his hand moving to stroke the matted hair instead.

Perhaps the sight of the ghoul attempting to tear at Alistair's arms and chest in response, the sickening sound of its teeth grating along the armor plate brought home to the Aithleys that there really was no choice in the matter. Nerissa hoped so, but she was not watching them. Her attention was riveted upon the big man who knelt uncaring in the mud, cradling the child horror, touching that head so tenderly, speaking in a soft voice.

"It's all better now. You'll feel much better soon. Just go to sleep."

And the ghoul's struggles were subsiding, the anger on its face calming. Alistair looked up at Fawn's parents. His face was calm, but Nerissa was beginning to know his expressions. She could see the tightness around his eyes and mouth and knew he was fighting hard to keep his composure, but his voice was steady when he spoke.

"Come a little closer and talk to her. I honestly don't know if Fawn is still in there and can hear you, but if she can, she'd want to know you are here." He bent his head once more, relaxing his arm since she'd stopped fighting him, cradling her now ever so gently.

Piers and Chelsa Aithley were speaking to their daughter now in tear-choked voices, words of love, of reassurance. Nerissa felt her eyes tear up in response, her vision becoming spangled in the torchlight, still watching the big man and the little ghoul.

Who seemed much more the child now, her expression slack and peaceful. Her eyes closed and did not open again. She actually cuddled against Alistair's chest of a sudden and smiled. Then she went very still.

He waited for a while before raising fingers to rest against the purple-bruised throat. "She's gone," he told the Aithleys, and Chelsa turned and began to weep against her husband's shoulder.

Alistair rose to his feet, still cradling Fawn. "I'm sorry that I had to do this." The farmer shook his head, his voice still rough.

"Thank you, Warden. You did it as nicely as could be done. I see now…we should have taken care of things ourselves. We probably endangered other people coming here."

Alistair shook his head. "I understand why you couldn't. And why you had to try_. I'm _sorry I wasn't there to keep her from getting Tainted in the first place-there just aren't enough of us in Ferelden at present."

"We know that, Warden," the brother said, coming up. "You've done all you can for all of us here in Ferelden. We are obliged to you." He actually looked over at Nerissa. "We're obliged to _both _of you Wardens." Nerissa nodded in response, feeling rather uncharacteristically disinclined to speak.

Alistair did not correct Perry's assumption about Nerissa's status. "There are a couple of pyres laid down by the refugee camp and a Mother or two as well. It would be best if we went ahead and laid Fawn to rest."

Fawn's parents nodded, seemingly relieved The ox was left by the gate, the guards agreeing to watch it. They made an oddly dignified procession as they walked down to the refugee camp; Alistair in the lead with the little body, the parents and uncle following behind, Nerissa bringing up the rear, her staff in hand.

They were met there by a Mother who introduced herself as Mother Boann. When the situation was explained to her, she took the grieving family in hand, to Alistair's relief. She led the way to where two pyres were stacked and Alistair gently laid Fawn upon the nearest, then took off his cloak (brand new just this week, Nerissa knew) and laid it over the child, up to her chin like a coverlet upon her bed at night.

It was an oddly beautiful service, there in the dark, in the light of the torches, for the torch bearing guards had been told off to follow them and a few refugees had come up as well, drawn by curiosity though all were ordered to keep well back. A sister with blond hair arrived just as the service started, and she sang when it was done, sang without any accompaniment. And her voice was loveliness itself, rising purely into the gathering dark. Fawn's family seemed to find it comforting.

When the last note had died away, Alistair turned to Nerissa. "The wood's wet and you know magical fire is best for this."

She nodded, not worrying about anyone's response to her use of magic. Alistair's masterful manner said that this was still Warden business. "All of you, stand a bit further back," she called. The spectators backed away hastily when they saw her raise her staff. The Fireball shot out, swift and sure, and the pyre exploded into flame. Fawn was totally obscured immediately, which was probably a mercy for her parents.

"You can leave the family to me, Wardens," Mother Boann said, coming over to them. "I'll see that they're housed and cared for, either here or in the town, until they decide to return home."

"Thank you, Mother Boann."

"It was a hard task, but you did the Maker's work tonight, Warden."

"Funny how it doesn't feel that way," Alistair observed. He inclined his head to the Mother and walked away, Nerissa at his heels. When they'd gone back towards the gate a way, he stopped and looked at her. "I need a Burning Hands, Nerissa. We don't want to take Taint into the city."

"You don't have your gauntlets on! Your hands will be burnt!"

"I know that. It won't take much to cleanse them, and you've got healing potions on you."

So Nerissa did as she was bidden, directing the flame over Alistair's chest and arms and hands. He hissed in pain, but stood his ground. His hands were blistered and red even from the brief touch of the magical flame. When he declared the Taint was gone, she gave him the healing potion and he sighed in relief.

"Thanks. If you don't mind, let's go fire the wagon. Then I _really_ need a drink."

* * *

><p>Warden tabards got them the best of service at the re-opened Gnawed Noble despite their scruffy appearance; access to the washroom and one of the nicest booths.<p>

"It's on the house, Wardens," the barkeeper said. "What would you like?"

"Whiskey for me," Alistair said. "What about you, Nerissa?"

Nerissa shook her head. "I don't hold my liquor well. Could you mull some wine for me?"

The barkeeper said that he could, and went off to get their drinks. Alistair looked at Nerissa.

"You 'don't hold your liquor well'? Would that be better or worse than you hold your lyrium?"

"Worse," Nerissa said promptly. "_Much_ worse. Bear that in mind before you try to get me drunk."

"Yes, ma'am!" Alistair said, shuddering.

She grinned in response for a moment, then sobered.

"You were prepared for what happened today. Have you had to deal with it before?"

He nodded. "Yes. I had Zevran stock me up again just last week. Sometimes, people are too old or too young or don't want to be Wardens and it's the only thing you can do for them. At various times in our travels, we had to put ghouls and Tainted folk down. But they were adults. There was only one other child, and Corin took care of him." She gave Alistair an interrogative look and he continued speaking quietly, his big fingers tracing the patterns of the wood grain on the table.

"It was early on in the Blight quest, and I wasn't being much help to Corin. I was still all wrapped up in mourning Duncan and the other Wardens. We'd found this farmstead the darkspawn had raided while looking for a place to camp for the night. The family was all dead , except for a little five-year-old boy, who'd been hidden in the cellar. The darkspawn hadn't burned the farm for some reason, but he'd come up when they were gone and stayed with his parents, so he got Tainted by proximity. He was hungry and thirsty and frightened when we found him and when Corin saw the Taint-marks…" Alistair sighed, and looked up, his expression rueful.

"At that point in time, Corin and I didn't know how to do the Joining and we didn't have the things we needed to do it either, even if we would have done that to a child. He had me make a separate camp for just the two of us and the boy, and went to talk to Zevran. That night…I've never seen the like for pure iron control to this day. Corin was nothing but cheerful and reassuring. He fed the boy and washed him up and even told him a bedtime story before he gave him the tea Zevran had made. I could tell he'd had a little brother or had been with children of that age before and liked them. It was his nephew, I found out later, who'd died at Highever."

The barkeeper brought over their drinks just then, and Alistair thanked him. Nerissa curled her hands around her warm tankard and sniffed the spices appreciatively. Her commander took a quick belt of his whiskey before taking up the tale again.

"The boy died in his arms, content. We took him back into the house, laid him out with his family, then had Morrigan burn the place down. Corin had nightmares much worse than usual for the next few nights. Actually woke up screaming a couple of times until Morrigan finally took him off to her camp and dealt with him in some way I'd rather not know too much about. It was then I began to realize that I wasn't pulling my weight, that I was letting him shoulder the whole burden himself. So I began to man up more."

"I can't believe _you_ were ever slacking off."

A wry smile answered her. "Thank you, but trust me, I was. There were days when I definitely wasn't worth my cheese." He sighed. "I feel for the Aithleys. They tried so hard to save their daughter. They _never _gave up on her."

A tiny, odd inflection in his voice suggested to Nerissa that there might be issues there. "What about _your_ parents?"

Alistair took another drink. "You've no doubt heard that my father was King Maric, right?" She nodded, and took a drink of her wine as well. "For a long time, I was told that my mother was one of Arl Eamon's maids and that she'd died when I was born. He'd actually had a maid die in childbed about the time of my arrival, she and her child. It was only very recently that I found out my mother was actually a Grey Warden, and she'd surrendered me to Maric to raise after I was born. Of course, the King couldn't be bothered with doing that personally-he foisted me off on Arl Eamon, who raised me in the stable until his new wife started to complain, whereupon he packed me off to the Templars."

"He raised you _in the stable_?" Little as Nerissa knew about nobility and royalty, that seemed…irregular.

Alistair nodded, tossed the rest of his drink back and raised his glass. The barkeep hurried over with the bottle to fill it again.

"That's right. I was the stable boy and sometimes the kennel boy. And it made my Chantry school life very hard, because somehow it seemed everyone knew that and about my being Maric's bastard as well."

"Whatever happened to your mother? Did she ever try to get in contact with you?"

The Warden-Commander shrugged. "No. She left me an amulet, and that was that. It's more than likely that she's dead now-Wardening is dangerous business after all."

"Haven't you ever wanted to find out?"

"I've thought about it," Alistair admitted. "I suppose I could write to Weisshaupt and see what they know." He sipped his new whiskey and gave her a look. "But enough about interrogating _me_. What about _your _family? Didn't you say they were in the Highever alienage? Haven't you ever been curious about them?"

Nerissa wrinkled her nose. "Of course I have. Curious and hesitant at the same time. Because from talking to the children that were old enough to remember more than I did when they were brought to the Circle, it seems that half the time the parents don't want the Templars to take them and half the time they're shoving the scary little nuisance out the door and saying good riddance. I don't know _how_ I'd feel if I tracked my family down and they were the shoving-out-the-door kind." She drank some more wine. "And they may have all been killed in the massacre anyway."

"Perhaps not," Alistair argued. "If they weren't in the Keep proper, it doesn't seem smart to have done so. Forgive me for saying this, you know _I_ don't feel that way- but if you kill all the elves, then who is going to empty the chamber pots?"

Chuckling, Nerissa lifted her mug to him. "There is that!" She took another mouthful, rolling it around on her tongue for a moment, savoring the spices, which were very good.

"That's one thing to be said for being a mage, if you're an elf," she said when she'd swallowed. "It does give you an odd sort of respectability. People are scared of you."

"Do you like that? People being scared of you?"

"Not at all. But it's marginally better than being despised, spat on or ignored."

"And as a Senior Enchanter, you've got a lot more freedom to travel than most elves ever get," Alistair mused. Then his expression brightened. "Hey, speaking of travel-Fergus is going back to Highever soon after the wedding and coronation. I think Corin might be going with him, just for a little while. I've not been up around the Highever area, other than to Soldier's Peak. We could probably afford to take the time to go up there long enough to scout around and for you to check on your family."

Nerissa pondered this for a moment. "The King _would_ appreciate it if you were with him, at least at first. That is going to be hard for him."

Alistair nodded. "It's bound to be. And if I can't get away for some reason, I'll see if he'll take you with him. You shouldn't have any problems while in _his_ company."

"What if I should turn into an abomination in your absence?"

"Aren't you the girl who said you thought demons were tacky? Anyway, if the worst were to happen, Corin's Templar trained. And he's almost as strong as I am."

Nerissa recollected the darkspawn general in the Alienage. "I remember that-he did a Cleanse when we were fighting our way up to Drakon. Did _you_ do that? Or did he go to Chantry school as well?"

"I did it," Alistair admitted. "To help with the emissaries."

"Were you _supposed_ to do that? Train him, I mean?"

"No..." The Warden-Commander looked slightly uncomfortable, but only slightly.

Although uncertain about how she felt about traveling alone with the King, particularly in light of this new knowledge, Nerissa nonetheless felt that it wasn't her place to say so. Alistair might be responsible for her, but he was hardly her nanny!

"That's very nice of you. Speaking to the King about going to Highever, I mean. I'd like to do that. On one condition."

"And that is?" His eyebrow raised. He was a little flushed now from the whiskey, but overall, he seemed much more relaxed than when they'd first come in.

"If _I _go to Highever, _you _have to write to Weisshaupt."

After a moment, Alistair nodded. "That seems fair enough." Suddenly his stomach let out a growl loud enough to cause the patrons at the next table to jump and turn and stare at them in astonishment. Nerissa giggled.

"Maybe we should just get supper _here_," the Warden-Commander said, his cheeks reddening even more. He raised his hand to summon the barkeeper.


	51. Chapter 51

This chapter was a bit of a surprise. Apparently my muse wanted to make up for the long break! Thanks to csorciere, LivewithHonour, Liso66, lazyguy90, Guest, shom, karthik9, 17986, Mike3207, Blighted114, Ronin Kenshin and Melysande for their kind words about the last chapter. Parts of that one were very difficult to write. And a special thanks to Eclipse1234, who is plugging away through this behemoth and reviewing chapter-by-chapter. He put me over the 1K mark this week, and that is something I've never achieved with one of my stories. Thanks to him and to you all! Your support means the world to me!

We're nearly to the wedding, but there are a couple of new arrivals first. One of them is an old acquaintance from my Corin prequel Tilt.

* * *

><p>The Valaigles had always been possessed of more pedigree than purse, and though they were comfortably well off, had to spend their resources strategically. So Henriette's sister Eloise, two years older and a true beauty unlike Henriette, had been the recipient of the lion's share of funding, as her parents sought to make her a good marriage. Henriette's mother Princess Amelie had pressed her youngest to take in an interest in clothes and cosmetics as well, but had not pushed the matter overmuch when she found her daughter disinclined. Henriette had suspected that would change after Eloise was wed and she became the sole focus of her mother's matrimonial attention, but she'd been allowed to continue in her workaday country life until the Empress' summons.<p>

Now, suddenly, everything had turned about. She was no longer merely one of several younger cousins of the Empress-she was a Personage. Not only were the gift broodmares waiting at Jader, but her own mare Papillon as well, and the Empress had provided her with an _entourage_. Her own old nurse-turned-chaperone Simone was now in the company of _two_ younger lady's maids, a hairdresser, a cook, a groom and a seamstress! Henriette also had a guard detachment of twelve men, captained by an older chevalier who seemed less than pleased at his assignment. But then, none of the new servants or soldiers seemed much pleased at the prospect of taking ship to Ferelden and spending the winter there. Henriette could hardly blame them. The discomfort and danger of the voyage aside, not to mention uncertainty about the quality of hospitality available in a Blighted country, were hardly the sorts of things to inspire enthusiasm. Besides, the winter holidays were always so festive in Orlais.

And there were also chests and chests of clothes and wigs and masks, perfume and cosmetics, more than Henriette had ever possessed in her life, as well as lamps, boxes, rugs, hangings, furnishings…everything that might be needed to make quarters in a land of backwards dog-lords passably comfortable. Having seen it all piled up upon the dock before it was loaded, Henriette had been certain, despite the fact that she was traveling in a large Orlesian war-galleon, that if it were all actually stuffed into the ship's hold, the vessel would founder before it ever got out of the bay!

She found that she liked the new ambassador, Antoine De Mornay. He was a trim man in his mid-thirties, dark-haired and slightly swarthy. As it turned out, he was a horseman like Henriette and had brought his own destrier Bonnechance. Most considerately, he had taken the time to show the Princess the slings and stalls below deck where the horses would be housed. The fact that Bonnechance had sailed several times without mishap was comforting to her. De Mornay also had an attractive wife and two comely young sons, whom he'd bidden farewell to at the docks.

"Are you not bringing your family with you, Ambassador?" she'd asked, surprised, and he'd shaken his head.

"There is always the chance that the Ferelden crown will not find me suitable, Highness, and things are still unsettled there from the Blight. I'll wait until I know that my credentials are accepted and send for Melisse and the boys in the spring, when the good sailing weather comes."

They turned out to be incredibly fortunate in their own sailing weather. Despite the lateness of the season, there had been only one storm. To Henriette, confined to her cabin for the duration, it had seemed a very strong one and rather frightening, but the captain of the ship had not been overmuch worried. Aside from that, she had found that sea travel was not as onerous as she had feared it would be. Once the first day of the voyage was past, her stomach settled quite nicely, and she was able to go about on deck. It gave her some much-desired peace and privacy, for Simone and her new servants were all in bed-bound misery below, with buckets close to hand.

Antoine De Mornay was a good sailor as well, and as she walked the frigid, windswept deck the day after the storm, he walked with her, giving her the opportunity to consult with him about Ferelden and the royals she was to meet.

"You were Lord Deslarnes' second, were you not, Ambassador? So of course you've met the Queen and the Crown Prince. What are they like?"

"I met the Queen and the late King Cailan many times during my last posting, Your Highness," De Mornay said, bending his head close to Henriette's to be heard above the wind. "Queen Anora is a very intelligent woman. The Empress speaks highly of her-and you know how rare that is! And she is dedicated to her people above all else."

"And the Crown Prince?"

"I only met Corin Cousland once, when he was seventeen. But since he was never at court, it was one more time than anyone else in the diplomatic service has, and I honestly believe it is because of that meeting that I was given this posting, for there were several people who had more seniority who might have been selected in my stead." He smiled, and it lightened his saturnine features most amazingly. "Not that diplomats are lining up to be assigned to the Fereldan embassy, particularly now! Rivain and Antiva, even the Free Marches or Tevinter are much to be preferred."

"Is Ferelden so very bad then?" Henriette asked, concerned. De Mornay laughed.

"To those who prefer the exquisite appointments of court in Val Royeaux, the Void might be preferable. To those who are more comfortable with a simple country life, it is quite tolerable." The ambassador threw a hand up in a waggling gesture. "They do not have many horses worthy of notice, but there are a few-hunters, primarily. And in Denerim you can find a surprising amount of imported luxuries and fripperies. Or at least you could." He sighed. "I expect we won't be seeing them at their best after the Blight, and must be careful not to comment upon that."

"I am very worried that I will offend without meaning to," the Princess admitted, "as I have no experience of diplomacy whatsoever. Could you give me some suggestions about custom, so that I may avoid that?"

"I am not certain that the Empress is worried about whether you offend them or not," De Mornay said. Seeing Henriette's crestfallen look, the ambassador was more forthcoming. "But since _you _want to do a good job-_don't _use any of those masks they sent with you unless it's for an actual masquerade ball. _Nothing_ says Orlesian arrogance to Fereldans like our use of masks. They want to see your face. Never hurt or insult a dog, mabari or otherwise, and if you can bring yourself to admire them with convincing sincerity, then do so. Keep your tongue between your teeth and silent when Fereldans speak of River Dane and do not brag of Orlesian conquests or superiority in anything at all. Remember that even people of the social class we would consider peasants are proud, and have more rights than do our poorer folk and that they can be touchy with it. Standard courtly courtesy will serve with the courtiers."

"That doesn't sound too awful," Henriette said, encouraged.

"I think it is well within your ability to manage," De Mornay assured her. "As for the Crown Prince…he has most likely changed over the last couple of years, but when I met him, he was a gallant young man, very chivalrous. And very, _very _clever. _Never_ forget when dealing with him that this is a man who went from being the outlawed son of an attainted teyrn with a price on his head to the commander of the armies and soon-to-be King within the space of little more than a year. And that the two men who opposed and oppressed him and his family from what seemed to be a position of unassailable power are both dead now, one of them by his own hand."

"He sounds frightening, just like the Empress!" The prospect of confronting another such preternaturally brilliant creature, and one that did not have a kin-bond to constrain him, was daunting to say the least. The Princess shivered.

"He is said to be formidable," De Mornay allowed. "But he is also a gentleman and courteous to women of all stations. You will do well enough."

Seeing her shiver again, the ambassador took the liberty of draping his cloaked arm about her shoulder. "I understand that you don't wish to be pent in the cabin, Your Highness, but I believe that it's past time to go in."

* * *

><p>They arrived in Denerim very late on a grey and lowering afternoon, with a mix of rain and snow and sleet pelting down. While De Mornay sent a runner off to the palace with news of their arrival, Henriette cloaked herself and ventured up onto the deck, to the very great displeasure of Simone and Lisette, one of her maids, who both insisted upon accompanying her.<p>

The forest of masts about her was not that much smaller than at Jader, and from her limited vantage, this part of the city seemed to be relatively unscathed by the Blight. There was some activity going on, but the docks were not as busy as they would be in prime sailing weather. There were actually some fishing boats coming in as she watched to unload their catches. Henriette's family lands were inland, but she knew from things she had read that to be fishing in the oncoming winter in such a way indicated a desperate need for food.

She was not able to stay long before Simone chivvied her back into her cabin so that she might be properly prepared for her arrival, which involved corseting, one of her fancy new dresses, the swift and clever transformation of her long brown hair into an ornate, piled-up confection and cosmetics, which Henriette had always loathed. They had just finished her _toilette _when a carriage blazoned with the Fereldan royal arms rolled onto the docks, followed by a troop of Fereldan soldiers.

"What of the horses?" she anxiously asked De Mornay, who was still in his ship-board clothes.

"I will see to them. You go get settled. I will be with you later tonight. The Empress gave me a letter for you that I was to give you upon your arrival."

"Until this evening then, ambassador." He bowed.

"Your Highness."

She went hesitantly down the gangplank with Simone and Lisette and six of her guard, to be met by a ginger-haired man in a cloak of fine wool, her very first Fereldan. He bowed, and came up smiling.

"Good afternoon, Your Highness. I am Teagan Guerrin, Bann of Rainesfere," he said in flawless Orlesian. "Her Majesty and His Royal Highness have asked me to convey to you how very happy and pleased they are that you have come to attend the wedding and coronation, particularly since travel is so very difficult and trying this time of year. They wish for you to make yourself comfortable this evening, and will receive you in formal audience tomorrow afternoon, providing you feel rested enough."

"You are very kind, Bann Teagan. Please convey my thanks to Her Majesty and His Royal Highness."

He bowed and smiled and opened the door of the carriage for her. Henriette stepped up and in and found it not so very different from her parents' carriage. Teagan seated himself beside her while Simone and Lisette sat opposite them, Lisette giving Bann Teagan an appraising look under her lashes. She seemed to like what she saw, which was not surprising. The bann was quite presentable.

"You speak Orlesian very well, my lord bann," Henriette noted.

"Many of us do. Both the Queen and the Crown Prince are fluent. As for myself, my sister-in-law, Arlessa Isolde, is Orlesian. She gets most of the credit for my accent."

"It is very correct," the Princess said, and Teagan inclined his head.

"Is there anything I might help you with? Any questions Your Highness might have? I am at your disposal."

She looked out the window. "Were you here during the battle? Was it very horrible? There does not seem to be any damage here at the docks."

"This area was relatively unscathed. Wait until we get up into the city proper." That air of pleasant welcome the Bann had exuded was suddenly something darker, more sober. "Yes, I was here during the battle. And it was very horrible. You have to understand that we did not truly have any hope of defeating the darkspawn in pitched battle-their numbers were too great. Our sole purpose was to hold them off long enough so that the Grey Wardens could get into the city and kill the Archdemon."

"How many Grey Wardens were here? I have heard nothing about the battle, only that there was a victory. I have always heard that it took many Grey Wardens to bring an Archdemon down."

The look Bann Teagan gave her then was a sharp one, as if he thought she might be mocking him in some manner. Then observing her face, he seemed to realize that she was in earnest, and he became friendly again.

"There were four. The Senior Warden of Jader, Riordan, came over the border to help us, and he died during the battle. His actions were essential to our victory-he wounded the Archdemon so that it could not fly away. His sacrifice will be remembered. Of course the Crown Prince and Alistair Theirin, who had accomplished the Blight Quest with him, were there, as well as Ser Cauthrien, Teyrn Loghain's former second. She joined the Wardens right before the battle."

"They must be mighty warriors indeed! And surely the Bride must have held Ferelden in her keeping!"

"So we believe," Teagan responded, then fell silent, looking out the window. Henriette did as well.

And as they made their way up into the city, she could finally see the damage that had been done, even in the gathering dusk. Teagan pointed out landmarks of interest, such as the Denerim cathedral, which made up for in history what it lacked in impressiveness. There were plenty of vacant, scorched looking lots, and other buildings that looked as if they were about to fall down, but some that had been damaged that showed signs of repairs in progress. There were guardsmen about, but not many people on the streets, and the one marketplace they passed through held few merchants. Overall, it seemed a depressing prospect, though part of that could be attributed to the wintry weather and the oncoming night. Henriette was glad when the carriage pulled into the palace courtyard, for lanterns and torches were lit there, and there was something approaching a lively bustle.

* * *

><p>For a backward, barbarian country, the Fereldans managed to get her settled into a suite in the palace very quickly, and her entourage were housed with similar dispatch. The ambassador was given rooms that adjoined hers and had a connecting door. A hot bath was readied for her and she was surprised to find that by the time she'd finished it, the first of her clothes had been brought up from the docks, the trunk containing a limited wardrobe of necessities that Lisette and Marguerite had put together for just that purpose. So she was able to eat dinner in one of her own gowns, while the servants bustled about, setting her things away.<p>

Her cook, of course, had not been able to be established in a kitchen yet, so she was eating Ferelden food. She found it was quite adequate, but she had never had much of a palate for fancy court dishes with ornate sauces. It was rather like simple country fare, such as she'd often enjoyed at home. A piece of roast, some stewed vegetables and some halfway decent bread were more than good enough for someone who had been eating shipboard fare for a while. There was something called pumpkin pie for dessert, and it was quite nice, spicy and hearty, with whipped cream on top.

She was sitting by the fire, sipping the tea Lisette had brewed up in the kettle, when De Mornay arrived. He'd changed into a clean suit, but looked weary and chilled. He had a leather folio under his arm.

"Would you care for some tea, Ambassador? Or some dinner perhaps?" Henriette asked, with genuine concern. She didn't need her only mentor in all of this to fall ill! "The weather looks to have become rather wretched."

"I would thank Your Highness most kindly for some tea. I will eat when I leave you," De Mornay said, and gave her a gently inquiring look. Henriette suddenly remembered protocol, and blushed. "Please, be seated. I've a lap rug here if you are cold."

"Thank you, Your Highness, but if I move a little closer to the fire, I will be fine," the Ambassador said. "You may be pleased to know that all of the horses have been off-loaded safely. They are all unharmed and are settled in a wing of the royal stables. I looked them over myself. If you wish to visit Papillon in the morning, you need only inquire of the stable master as to her location." He grimaced. "I apologize for my state-I've not had a chance to bathe yet, but I thought you would wish to have that news first."

"I did, very much. Thank you."

"And there is the Empress' letter as well. I should give that to you now." He opened the folio and rifled through the documents there, withdrawing a letter sealed with the Empress' personal seal and handing it to her. Henriette took it, giving him a worried look.

"Do you know what the Empress has written to me?"

De Mornay shook his head. "I have no idea. And I do not know if she intends you to tell me."

"Shall I read this while you are here then?"

"You may if you wish. I promise not to peek," the Ambassador said with a little smile. "That way, if you _are_ allowed to speak of it, I will be here if you have questions." He sighed and settled gratefully back into his chair, closing his eyes and wrapping his hands about the warm teacup.

Henriette broke the seal and opened the letter. She could not help but feel a bit fearful. Every time she had ever seen that elegant, copperplate script, it had meant upheaval in her life. As it turned out, this time was no different.

_Her Imperial Majesty Celene I, Empress of Orlais sends to her royal cousin Henriette Mignonette Charolotte Amelie Valaigle most cordial greetings._

_Cousin,_

_You have Our most heartfelt thanks for your willingness to brave winter weather and privation so that the honor of the Empire might be upheld. But it has occurred to Us that your journey might be used to accomplish something else that We greatly desire and that thusly your discomfort will be in service to an even greater cause._

_It is Our desire to establish an Orlesian connection at the Ferelden court. Towards that end, We would ask that you make a genuine effort to involve yourself with one or more of the following men: Corin Cousland, Fergus Cousland or Alistair Theirin. We would be more than happy to give Our approval to a marriage between your royal self and the King of Ferelden, Teyrn of Highever or Alistair Theirin. We would be equally pleased if you were to achieve a more illicit relationship with the King of Ferelden, and promise to you that you will suffer no lessening of status or reputation by doing so. Indeed, were you to accomplish the latter, you would find yourself exceptionally well-dowered and with properties of your own upon your return to Orlais. We also stand prepared to be __very__ generous in the terms of any marriage contract between you and any of these gentlemen, making significant contribution to your dowry in addition to what your parents have provided._

_We know that you are modest and shy, Henriette, and may have qualms about your ability to accomplish any of this. We do not. We have faith that you will be able to achieve one (or more!) of these charges. In closing, We remind you of two things-that you swore to Us to follow Our instructions completely and to the letter, and that Corin Cousland was originally meant to be yours._

_Most hopefully,_

_Your cousin Celene_

_Maker and Lady! What am I to __**do**__?_ _It is worse than ever I thought! _Henriette wailed inwardly in despair, dropping the letter into her lap and covering her face with her hands for a moment. She could hear a rustle as the ambassador sat up in his chair.

"Your Highness, is something wrong?"

"I…I do not know if I am allowed to tell you, Ambassador."

"Did the Empress specifically say that you should not tell anyone?"

"No."

"Then I would think that she _expects _you to consult with me. I certainly stand ready to aid or advise you in any way I can." His voice was level and matter-of-fact, and that calmed Henriette. She dropped her hands, picked up the letter and handed it to him. De Mornay read it over with deliberate care, then looked up at her.

"This is not entirely unexpected. I had wondered if she did not have something like this in mind when she sent _you_ here as her representative."

"I…I am _not_ the person to be doing such things!" Henriette exclaimed, more than a bit overwhelmed. "She should have sent Eloise, or someone like her! I know _nothing_ of men or seduction and she expects me…expects me to _bed_ the Prince? And what of the Queen? And what if I do not succeed at any of this? What will happen to my family?" She knew she was almost gibbering, but could not help herself.

The ambassador raised a hand. "Calm yourself, Your Highness. It will be all right. First of all, the Empress does not expect you to throw yourself at the Prince or anyone else _tomorrow_! Winter has set in, and it will be tacitly understood that you are here for the season. A princess of Orlais cannot be expected to travel Gherlen's Pass in the dead of winter or venture back onto the ocean in the season of storms. You have some time." He handed the letter back to her.

"Secondly, _I _happen to think that the Empress chose perfectly well. Your sister or anyone like her would not have as great a chance of success at the Fereldan court. If you will pardon my saying so, you lack artifice and are sincere. While this is a fatal handicap in the Great Game, it will be a great advantage to you with the Fereldans. You are probably the most tolerable Orlesian she could have sent here-besides myself, of course." De Mornay grinned, and Henriette managed a shaky smile in return.

"In the third place, you have always known that you might have to wed for policy at the Empress' whim, and quite possibly to a foreigner. You have been given _three _options, which is better than her simply telling you who your husband will be, which you know could very well have happened."

Henriette took up her own cup once more and took a sip. The ambassador's calm numbering of their options was having a comforting effect.

"As I said before, you have time," he continued. "Attend court, meet the three gentlemen. We do not know enough yet about their individual situations to decide which course of action would be best to pursue. It is quite possible that you might even have liking of one, and he of you! Fulfilling the Empress' charge then would be a thing that is not only easy, but something you desire for yourself."

"But this business of wanting me to become the Prince's _mistress_ if I cannot be his wife…I was raised up properly in the Chantry. Such things are wrong!"

"For the sake of your dignity, that would not be my first choice of conditions to fulfill for Her Imperial Majesty," De Mornay admitted. "Though by all accounts it is a political marriage, and the Crown Prince might appreciate the distraction. And it might lead to a more legitimate arrangement in time, which I am sure is what she is hoping for. Let us not set that possibility completely aside, but focus more upon the other two gentlemen for now."

"What you say makes perfect sense, Ambassador," Henriette said with a rueful smile. "I am sorry to have panicked."

De Mornay gestured dismissively. "Your Highness has had a difficult journey. You are tired and stressed, and this was most likely not the best time to discuss this matter, but that was the Empress' command. If I may be so bold as to advise you-read the letter one more time, then burn it. Take a posset if necessary and get some sleep. You can sleep into the late morning if you wish, and still have time to prepare for court. A good night's sleep will make things look much better, I am sure. _I _certainly intend to sleep as long as I can! After a long hot bath, of course."

"Which I should let you get to. I've held you long enough," the Princess said remorsefully. "Good night, Ambassador."

"Good night and good rest, Your Highness."

* * *

><p>Henriette had not had time to visit Papillon after all, to her great displeasure. Having taken a sleeping posset, she woke late and fell promptly into the clutches of Lisette and Marguerite, with Simone supervising over all. A lunch that was much smaller than she would have liked was allowed-right before she was cinched so tightly into a corset that she was glad she'd not eaten more! Then had followed a flurry of intense activity. From the exhausted looks upon her maids' faces, she realized that they'd not had any sleep at all beyond a small nap, for they'd been unpacking and airing and ironing in preparation for the audience all night.<p>

"You should nap while I am at court," she told them before departing. "And after I am undressed when I come back, take the rest of the night off." She overrode Simone's protests. "I can take care of myself while in my quarters." The maids had curtseyed to her gratefully, seeming rather surprised by her consideration.

De Mornay had inspected her before leaving for the Landsmeet. He found the gold-green brocade gown and her hairdo acceptable but forbade the matching mask. To Henriette's very great satisfaction, he insisted that the maids wipe her cosmetics off and reapply only the barest minimum to lips and cheeks and eyes.

"Only _whores _wear that much paint in Ferelden," the ambassador had declared over Marguerite's objections, since she was the one who had applied the cosmetics with the heavy hand used in Val Royeaux. "The Princess is young and fresh and comely. Let that shine through-it will give a much better impression of her to them." The reapplication had taken a little time, but since they'd finished with time to spare, they were still on schedule when it was done.

* * *

><p>There were manors of some Dukes that had great halls as large or even larger than the Landsmeet Hall in Denerim. Fancier too, with soaring arches and gilded woodwork. But it nonetheless had a certain earthy, ponderous dignity and beauty, which Henriette noted as she entered, followed by her honor guard. The weather was much nicer than the day before and sunlight poured through the high, stained glass windows. She and De Mornay were announced at the door, and there was a bit of a stir. The hall was not packed, but it was almost full of nobles who had come to gawk at the Orlesian princess. The crowd was well-dressed, if not to the extreme one saw at Val Royeaux (For one thing there was not a single mask in evidence!) and did not seem as unfriendly as she might have expected.<p>

She kept her eyes forward and her chin high as she paced solemnly and (she hoped) gracefully up the red carpet that led to the dais and the thrones. The dais was up several steps, so she stopped at the bottom and dipped a deep, straight-backed curtsey. Queen Anora lifted a hand and gestured her forward, so she went up to dais itself and curtseyed once more.

The royal couple were clad in blue this day, which suited them both. The Queen was a lovely woman, slender and fine-featured, less robust-looking than the Empress. Her eyes were the shade of pale sapphires and her hair purely gold. Henriette thought that she looked a little pale and tired.

The Crown Prince was leaning back in his chair, seemingly totally at ease. Even sitting down, he towered over his betrothed. Appropriately, there was a mabari reclining in canine majesty beside his chair.

Henriette wasn't sure what she'd expected the Hero of Ferelden to be, she'd not really constructed a specific mental image, but he didn't disappoint. Black, black hair and lovely, balanced bone structure. Well-muscled too. If he could have been translated into a horse, she would have wanted him to cover all of her mares. Half-lidded, the bluest eyes she'd ever seen were currently boring into her.

_Corin Cousland was originally meant to be yours. _The youngest Princess Valaigle, late-bloomer that she was, felt the world turn beneath her feet. Suddenly she _understood_ why girls giggled over handsome young men and plotted to attract them. She contemplated the idea that this beautiful specimen could have been _her_ husband and warmth flushed through her body. Intimately involved with the earthy business of breeding of horses from a young age, she herself had been immune to baser urges-until now.

She must have been staring like an idiot for some time, for she heard Lord De Mornay clear his throat softly behind her.

"Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, I bring you greetings and felicitations upon your upcoming nuptials from Her Imperial Majesty, Celene I of Orlais," she said, launching over-quickly into the address Celene had dictated to her. "Her Imperial Majesty hopes that this happy occasion and the ascension to the throne of the Crown Prince is an indication that the dark times are over for Ferelden and that your nation will enter into an era of peace and prosperity beneath your rule."

The Queen's eyebrow had lifted slightly as she noted Henriette's befuddlement, but there was a small, knowing smile upon her lips as she responded.

"Please convey Our thanks to Her Imperial Majesty, and be welcome to Our court, Princess Henriette. The winter closes about Us now, but it is always more bearable with good companions."

Henriette came back to herself and inclined her head. "Thank you, Your Majesty. Her Imperial Majesty also sends a wedding gift, as a token of her regard. As you already have a stud, she sends three broodmares of the best bloodlines, in the hopes that they will be useful."

A sudden chill in the atmosphere and an outbreak of muttering behind her told the princess that something about that speech had offended. De Mornay's statement upon the ship came back to Henriette. "_I am not certain that the Empress is worried about whether you offend them or not." _Certainly, Celene had insisted upon that exact wording. The Crown Prince's expression did not change in the least, but his big hand moved from the arm of his throne to the Queen's and closed gently about hers. The two royals exchanged a long, blue glance; then the Crown Prince turned back to her. His voice when he spoke, was light and clear-and very, very cool.

"Her Imperial Majesty has always had a keen eye for what is lacking-or needed," he said. "The gift is most welcome. Please convey Our thanks. But for now, come sit with Us, Cousin, as We conclude Our business."

Servants had brought out a low chair and were placing it next to the Prince's throne. He rose, moved to Henriette and offered her his arm. In a bit of a dream-like fugue, she took it, warm, hard muscle beneath blue velvet, and he escorted her to the chair, holding it as she seated herself before returning to his own throne.

When he was back in his place, the two royals looked down at the foot of the stairs, where Antoine De Mornay waited.

"Lord De Mornay, please come up," the Queen commanded, and De Mornay complied, bowing and going to one knee before the thrones.

"It is good to see you again, my lord," Anora said, and there was an actual hint of warmth in her voice. "I am hoping that Celene has sent you to Us as her new ambassador. Am I correct in that assumption?"

"You are, Your Majesty. Providing that you and His Royal Highness find me acceptable, of course." He offered his folio to Anora, who took it, opened it and perused his credentials for a long moment before handing it to her betrothed, who examined it in his turn.

A grin came over Corin Cousland's face when he was done. "You've moved up in the world since last We met, Lord De Mornay," he said.

"As have you, Your Royal Highness," came the prospective ambassador's amused response.

"So-did you wager any money on _this_?" the Prince asked, his hand gesturing to his crown.

"Regrettably, the opportunity never arose. Had it done so, of course I would have. I make a point of never betting _against _Your Royal Highness!"

Appreciative chuckles rose from the audience and one bold individual called out, "Damn right!"

"Wise man!" the Prince said, laughing. He looked over at the Queen, and handed the portfolio back to her. "I have no objection."

"I have no objection either. You are acceptable to Us, Lord De Mornay. Be welcome to the Fereldan court as Empress Celene's ambassador."

"Thank you, Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness." He rose and bowed and backed gracefully down the stairs to rejoin the other courtiers.

The Ferelden royals exchanged another of those glances. The Crown Prince got to his feet and helped the Queen to hers. Henriette rose immediately as well.

"Court is adjourned," the Queen announced. "We wish you all a good afternoon." She looked past her betrothed to Henriette and smiled. "There is a private tea laid on in my parlor, Your Highness. We will go there now."

"As it please Your Majesty," Henriette was prompt to respond, despite her confounded state of mind. She curtseyed and fell in behind the royal couple, finding that her escort was the mabari, who stared up at her with an assessing air as they walked that was much like his master's.

* * *

><p>"Someone was smitten," came Anora's comment later on that evening. She had dismissed Erlina for the night. Corin had played lady's maid and brushed her hair and was now braiding it into the loose single braid she wore to keep it from becoming tangled at night. The baby was beginning to make itself felt. She was very weary and there had been a tacit agreement between them that they'd not be getting up to anything this evening.<p>

He chuckled. "Yes, I noticed."

"She _is_ the girl your father was going to negotiate with the Orlesians about, isn't she?"

"The very one. More interested in horses than men, I was told."

"I suspect that has changed. At least where _one_ man is concerned."

He leaned forward and down, and kissed her cheek. "It's a bit obvious on Celene's part."

"It is. I could almost be offended that she thinks we're that simple. Although Cailan certainly didn't give her cause to think otherwise."

"Cailan was a fool about certain things, if you'll pardon my saying so," Corin remarked. "Wanting to be Celene's kept boy-toy rather than King of a free Ferelden. Not to mention his failings where you were concerned. Ribbon," he demanded, holding the hand that wasn't holding the end of her braid out to her. Anora laid one of the golden silk ribbons in it and he bound off the end of the braid. She got up and the two of them moved over to the bed, Corin lifting her up onto it before climbing up himself.

"It's very odd," Anora noted when she had settled herself under the covers, stretching her feet down to the wrapped hot bricks at the foot with appreciation. "Henriette would appear to be the rare Orlesian with absolutely no artifice. Not much of a spy."

"_De Mornay _is the spy, or rather he'll be running the agents who truly are," Corin said, shifting about a bit until he got into a position he was comfortable in. "As you said, it is obvious. Henriette is just here to stir up trouble. A young, nubile princess who was originally meant for me." The corner of his mouth crooked up. "I'm supposed to be overcome by my manly urges and step out on you with her. Preferably on the wedding night."

"Since Celene's given word is not worth much of anything, she doesn't take into account people who live by theirs," Anora said, cuddling closer. "What would you like to do?"

"I don't want to string the girl along," came Corin's prompt response. "I'm thinking of going for a little private ride with her and explaining the lay of the land. It would be the kindest thing."

"We're being kind to the Orlesians now?"

"We're being kind to a pawn who's obviously in over her head."

"You're _such_ a gentleman."

"For _tonight_ at least."

Anora chuckled. "Do you think Henriette is here for you alone? Perhaps Celene is hoping for another sort of alliance."

The Crown Prince's brow arched. "With Alistair, you mean? Get hooks in the Theirin and use him or his child to supplant us? That probably is the fall-back plan, knowing her."

"I'm wondering about the possibility of that sort of alliance from our end. If the positives could outweigh the danger."

"It might keep Orlais at bay, at least for a while," Corin mused. "Henriette or any Orlesian wouldn't be my first choice for Alistair though. If the truth about his mother ever came out and it was known that he was half Orlesian already…"

"Not to mention half elf and half mage."

"The Orlesian is what is germane here. If he has an Orlesian wife, then the Theirin heir is more Orlesian than Fereldan and they've got a claim to the throne without lifting a sword."

"True enough. It's rather a shame, though. She'd suit him personality-wise."

"She would. If she becomes a problem, maybe we can ask Teagan to step up and take one for the kingdom. It's well known the Guerrins have a weakness for Orlesian women. No one would be surprised."

"I doubt Celene would consider a mere bann a husband of sufficient rank for one of her cousins."

"Ah, but Teagan is a bann who will most likely end up an arl, the way things are going. And an arl would be. We could give him the odd vacant bannorn or two to plump him up in the meantime as well."

Anora yawned. "There's time enough to worry about Henriette later. We're getting married in two days' time. Let's get through that first."

Her betrothed moved even closer to her and yawned in his turn, his body a pleasant wall of warmth at her back.

"Her Majesty's wish is her humble servant's command."

Sleep was already washing over Anora, in successive and stronger waves like a tide coming in. But she fought it back long enough to mutter, "_Stop_ with that sort of talk, or you'll spend your wedding night trussed like a suckling pig on a spit."

"Mmmmmm. _Lucky_ me!" was the last thing she heard before she drifted off.


	52. Chapter 52

I'm very sorry about the long wait-I got sick right before I was supposed to go on vacation (so no vacation) and didn't feel well for about three weeks after that. Many thanks for your patience and for the reviews from: NonNonNon, Reader, McKaye, Ericboy, Koukentenshi, Addicove, SuperGravyMan, hades200, Guest, boyo77, borismortys, lazyguy90, 17986, none, Kalom, Mike3207, xseikax, War-Torn Hero, Lokken.B, Bob Rijke, M2J MandalorianJedi, karthik9, Liso66, csorciere, mille libri, and Sayle.

Warning: Loghain lovers will probably not like this chapter. Promise: the wedding comes in the next one (and maybe the next two or three, depending...)

* * *

><p>It was the custom in Ferelden that a young man on the night before his wedding spent that night in joyful carousing with his closest male companions, indulging in drink and the women who would be denied him once he was bound to his bride.<p>

Given that Corin Cousland was not the usual sort of man at all, and given his oath to Anora, it was probably not totally unexpected that he was spending his last night as a single man walking through a refugee camp in the company of a Mother of the Chantry. A newly made and oddly unhappy Mother of the Chantry, who fingered a gold chain of office as they walked and whose usually pleasant expression was as close to contentious as it ever got.

"Your Royal Highness, this is…unacceptable!" Agnetha sputtered. "I am not worthy of such a promotion so swiftly! And I cannot help but think that _you _were the cause of it! _Two blessings _does _not_ a Mother make!"

"But they were such _excellent _blessings! And besides, I'm sure you've gotten a lot more practice in lately, haven't you?"

"Yes," Agnetha admitted, scowling.

Seeing the former sister's genuinely annoyed expression, Corin gave her what was for him a tentative smile. "Shouldn't you be talking to the Grand Cleric about this? It would seem to me that matters of promotion within the Chantry are hardly the business of _temporal_ authority."

"You cannot tell me that I was not promoted because you requested me as your Confessor!"

"I cannot tell you that," the Crown Prince agreed. "But what I can tell you is that I told the Grand Cleric that _I_ had no problem whatsoever confessing to a mere sister, and that if _she_ had a problem with it, then she had the means of rectifying the situation."

Agnetha pondered that for a moment, then gave the Prince a hard look, which he met forthrightly. He was obviously telling the truth.

"You should know that Revered Mother Devera saw that this might happen," she admitted to him, relenting. "You asking for me to be your Confessor, I mean. And she told me that she felt that I was not of the right background to hold this office, that it would be better given to one of the Mothers or Revered Mothers with a noble background, who would be better suited to advise you."

"When the Grand Cleric when brought that particular objection up, I told her that I didn't need a noble or a politician, that I needed someone I could _talk_ to. And that someone was you." The Crown Prince gestured about him. "As for you being deserving of promotion…in times of strife and war, promotions come much more quickly than in times of peace. And has not Mother Boann been listening to your counsel? Have any of the people here suggested that your elevation is undeserved?"

Agnetha looked over the camp. "No…" she said after a silent moment of reflection. "Everyone has been very happy for me. They say that it is deserved. Even Brother Genitivi seemed to think so."

"Well there you have it! Brother Genitivi is a man of rare insight and wisdom!"

Agnetha couldn't help but smile a little at that. The Prince, seeing that, smiled broadly in his turn.

"I know that it is no sinecure, having to deal with me on a regular basis. But I'd be most grateful if you'd at least give it a try. If you truly find it unsupportable after the attempt, then I will find another Confessor."

The young Mother looked at him. He was the savior of Ferelden, as well as the man who would be crowned King tomorrow. Could she refuse him?

"That is generous of you, Your Royal Highness, But I…I do have reservations. Revered Mother Devera explained what was expected of a Confessor, that I would need to either live in the Grand Cathedral or in the apartments by the Palace chapel, which was her suggestion. This is so that I can be available to you upon a moment's notice." She gestured about the camp again. "But I have work I am doing _here_! Very important work, if you do not mind my saying so! How can I do that if I must be available to you night and day?"

"I quite agree that this is the place you need to be right now," the Prince said equably. "And my soul is not so much in crisis now as it was formerly. So how about we do things this way? If I need to talk to you, then _I'll_ find _you_, or send a runner down here."

She stared at him, consternated. "That is _not _how things are supposed to be done!"

"It is how _I_ am doing them." His lips quirked into a grin. "Besides, as a Mother, you need not bow to temporal authority, remember? I _should_ be waiting on your pleasure!"

"That may be the theory, but I doubt it is put much into practice with Kings!"

"Perhaps not…but I have something I wish to confess to you, Sister. Are you willing to take up the office?"

"I…Agnetha paused for a moment to listen within, to see if there were any indication as to what she should do. The lovely voice she'd heard that one time was silent. "Very well then. Where should we go? Back up to the Palace?"

"No, I'm at Arl Eamon's tonight. Wedding tradition, remember? The groom is not supposed to be under the bride's roof the night before-it's bad luck. But we needn't go there either. How about just out a little way from camp?" He threw a look over his shoulder at his escort. "Keep us in view, but not close enough to be overheard, gentlemen. My Confessor and I need to talk."

* * *

><p>Despite the fact that winter was upon them, there was still a beauty to Ferelden, Blight-ravaged though it was. The moon, which was waxing towards full, shone down with silver light upon the bare branches of the deciduous trees, lending them sinuous grace, a pale counterpoint to the darker shadows of the evergreens. The air was clear and cold, and further away from the moon's light, the stars could be seen, shining keen and bright.<p>

"I had a dream, when I was unconscious after I killed the Archdemon," the Crown Prince said. "I'd like to know what you think of it." And he proceeded to recount his vision of Bridey for the second time. Agnetha's eyes widened when her name came up in the account, but she was silent the entire time. When he was done, Corin asked, with a bit of concern because of her lack of response, "Well, what do you think? Was it a delusion, or the real thing?"

"How can you even ask that?"

"What do you mean? Because it's obviously delusion, or obviously real?"

"Think about it," Agnetha said. "When you have a dream, even one you wake right up from, how many times are you able to remember everything about it, even if you want to very badly? The details tend to blur, even after the most vivid dreams. Or nightmares-I think that must be the Maker's mercy there. You remember everything about the encounter, down to the last detail. I think the Lady really was speaking to you and that she wanted you to remember."

"Well there you go. It was the real thing. And the Lady herself told me that we should look after each other! Does that make you feel any better about being my Confessor?"

She bent her head for a moment, abashed. "Yes." There was a moment's silence, then the young Mother spoke again, hesitantly. "Andraste spoke to me once as well, since last we met."

"Really?" Corin asked. He was intrigued. So far Andraste's use of Agnetha had been without the young woman's knowledge. He wondered if this signified that things were moving to a higher level. "When did this happen?"

"The moment you killed the Archdemon. The refugees were well away from Denerim, as you know, but even in our camp we could see the explosion of light. Everyone had been watching and waiting for news all day long, and when that happened, people were afraid. I was trying to soothe them when I heard Her."

"What did She say?"

Agnetha's expression became reminiscently rapt. "She said, 'Sing, My meadowlark! Give praise to the Maker, for Ferelden has been delivered this day! The Blight is ended!'"

"So what did you do?"

"I sang, of course! A song of praise to the Maker. After I told everyone that the Archdemon was slain. There was quite the celebration."

"I wish I could have been there. I love your singing."

Agnetha blushed and looked away. "Thank you, Your Highness."

"You _are_ singing at the wedding tomorrow, aren't you?"

"You requested it, so of course I am."

"Then we'd best finish up, so that you can get some rest. One more blessing before the day, if you will, Mother." Corin unceremoniously stripped off his circlet and shoved it up his arm, then knelt, this time without drawing his sword, his hands folded upon his knee. At her curious look and gesture, he smiled.

"I was always going off to fight before. It doesn't seem appropriate for this."

Agnetha smiled in return. "No, I suppose it doesn't." Her hands came down to rest lightly upon his sable head, even as the crushing responsibility of the task she had taken up pressed upon her. But she repressed the moment of panic and thought upon what the future held for this young prince and found that words did come to her, halting but sincere.

"We country folk have a saying. _The king is the land_," she declared softly. "As the king goes, so goes the land and it's the other way around as well. Ferelden is damaged at present, and I know that you are too." Corin looked up a bit sharply at that. "But it can be healed, and in time, you will be as well. You know better than anyone that nothing worthwhile is gained without striving. You're not afraid of the work. But you need to remember to make time for the _joy_. When you are finding ways to hearten your people for the struggles ahead, make sure to take a little time to hearten yourself, by loving your wife and your family to come, by enjoying fellowship with your friends, by appreciating the beauty of this land that is still so beautiful in many ways, despite the Blight." The prince smiled beneath her hands, and Agnetha smiled in response for a moment before becoming serious once more.

"You've had more proof than many holy folk ever have that Andraste was looking out for you during your great quest. Do not think that She is not still watching if She falls silent now. It just means that She knows you are capable enough to achieve what is set before you without Her help. The time comes when every mother has to let her child's hands go, so that he can walk on his own. It doesn't mean that She loves you any less."

The new Mother bent a little closer to issue her final blessing, her expression earnest and sincere. "The Maker's blessing upon you, Your Royal Highness, and the Bride's as well, as you go to your wedding and crowning tomorrow. May They keep you safe as you labor to mend this land."

This time, Corin did not feel anything particularly special, other than the sense of peace that anyone might feel upon receiving a blessing. No Andraste, just Agnetha. But as he got to his feet and situated his circlet, he looked down upon the young woman he'd insisted should be his Confessor, and was content. Guileless, honest and true, Agnetha would serve him well as his touchstone in the trials ahead.

"Come, Mother, let's get you back to a fire," he said aloud, and politely ushered her back to the camp.

* * *

><p>Wardens were slaves to their stomachs according to Alistair, and Cauthrien finally understood what that meant. She'd eaten a good dinner, but a couple of hours afterwards was hungry again. Slipping down to the kitchens, her Warden status had gotten her a tray with bread and butter and jam, and even some cheese and cookies on the side. Everyone else was getting short shrift because of the frantic preparations for the wedding feast.<p>

"_I'd_ like to be able to eat like that," one of the more comfortably padded kitchen girls had sighed, regarding Cauthrien's trim frame and the heavily laden tray enviously.

After a bit of thought, Cauthrien snagged an extra mug of ale as well. The Cousland suite was almost deserted this evening and she thought that perhaps Surana might welcome company as much as she would.

The Teyrna was in the Royal Suite with the Queen, playing chaperone as was the tradition; Leliana and Zevran were prowling the city, having said something about security; Oghren, Pooka, Fergus and Alistair were all off at Arl Eamon's estate with Corin doing bachelor things and Wynne was partying with her fellow mages. Shale was still standing in the dining hall, where there was sufficient space to ward off chisel-bearers. Her foreboding countenance served to frighten many squishy folk who passed, to her great satisfaction.

For some reason Surana had not joined the mages-perhaps she feared her freedom would be revoked if she went back into Knight-Commander Gregoir's grasp. Or perhaps she was just avoiding Wynne. At Alistair's behest, the older mage had begun tutoring Surana in the Arcane Warrior disciplines and had taken the opportunity to lecture her captive audience upon Nerissa's shortcomings as perceived by Wynne as well. Though Cauthrien's own acquaintance with Wynne was mercifully limited, she'd already heard more than enough preaching and disingenuous fishing for compliments from the older mage that she had no desire to know her any better. Small blame to Surana, if she'd had enough of that!

Cauthrien found Surana, not surprisingly, in the library. The little elf mage's hair was screwed up into odd little bundles all over her head, tied up with what looked like scraps of cloth.

"What in the Maker's name happened to your hair?" the knight exclaimed.

Surana smiled ruefully at Cauthrien, and patted the lumps with some caution.

"This is Leliana's doing. She says that tomorrow when she takes it down, it will.." her voice took on an attempt at an Orlesian accent, "'tumble down over your shoulders in a _cascade_ of charming little ringlets!'"

Cauthrine gave Surana a dubious look. She knew more about strategy and tactics than many men, but the feminine mysteries were in many ways as mysterious to her as her male counterparts. "Really? I never heard of the like. Does that really work?"

"There were girls in the Circle who used to do stuff like this and it worked," Surana confirmed. "But I never did. Leliana washed my hair and then when it was almost dry she smeared this…stuff…on it and then she spent what felt like _hours_ dividing it up in strands and rolling it up in these rags. I figure she knows what she's about."

"Why did you let her do it?"

Slender shoulders shrugged. "Well, she'd gone to so much trouble helping me with the dress and the shoes and the under things and all that… She said it would…'complete the picture'. It seemed rude to refuse."

Cauthrien nodded down at the tray. "I wanted a bit of a snack, and thought you might join me."

The mage brightened. "That's very kind of you! I would, actually. I ate dinner early and was actually just thinking a snack would be nice. But we probably shouldn't eat in here with the books."

"There's the tea table in the parlor. That should serve."

* * *

><p>Surana stoked the fire in the parlor by tossing a couple of logs on and flicking magical flame at it, while Cauthrien set their places. Then the two women set to eating. The elf settled for a couple of pieces of bread heavily spread with jam and some cookies with her ale, then watched admiringly while Cauthrien devoured the rest. When they were done, Cauthrien asked, "So, what's this special dress you're wearing tomorrow like?"<p>

Surana obligingly fetched it out from her room. Ferelden's newest Warden looked at the plum-colored silk brocade gown, as the little mage carefully held it up. Cauthrien knew next to nothing about fashion, but she liked the tasteful silver embroidery and graceful sweep of the skirt.

"It's a pretty dress," she admitted. "Have you ever had a party dress before?"

"_Me_? No! Why would I? I've been in mage robes all my life. What about you?"

"Do I _look_ like the sort of woman who wears party dresses?"

"You never have? Even before you were in the army?"

"Before I was in the army, I was a farm girl. And we didn't really have party _dresses_, we had our go-to-Chantry blouses and skirts and we'd make fancy bodices cut lower than was Chantry-proper to wear _them_ to parties." Cauthrien sighed in reminiscence. "The girls would pull their blouses down low, but I never did. Didn't have much of a chest at the time. I only went to one dance, and I spent the whole time on the sidelines. My mother had let out one of her old dancing bodices for me-I was a lot taller and broader than she was. She'd done a good job, but the evening was a disaster nonetheless." An echo of that old embarrassment shadowed her face for a moment.

"Why didn't anybody want to dance with you?" Surana asked sympathetically.

Cauthrien snorted. "Because I had big shoulders and big hands and feet and no tits and I was taller than a lot of the boys and they knew I could arm wrestle most of them and win. It was _not_ a combination of traits to inspire romantic ardor. What about you?"

"We didn't have dances in the Circle."

"You never did any other kind of romantic foolery? No courtship at all?"

"No." Surana's voice went flat. "There are girls who did. But it's always a risk. It's a weakness the Templars can use against you. And if you're not careful and you get pregnant…when the baby is born, they take it away from you that same instant. You never even get to hold it. Romance just never seemed worth all that to me."

Cauthrien was appalled. "They _take your children away_?"

The senior enchanter smiled and it was not a pleasant smile. "They certainly don't want to encourage us to make _more _mages! What? Did you imagine happy little mage families in the Circle? I've heard there are circles where mages are allowed to marry, though it is rare. But even then, the children are always taken away."

"But why? Wouldn't they be mages?"

"Not always. Not even when two mages are the parents. They're raised in Chantry orphanages, and if they turn out to be mages, they're sent to a Circle far away from their parents. If they're not…a lot of them stay in the Chantry, it's said, and become Mothers or Templars."

"So in a sense, you breed your own jailors?"

"There aren't that many babies born. But yes, we do contribute. It's rather ironic when you think about it." Surana sipped her ale; then, obviously desiring to change the subject, asked, "What are _you_ going to wear to court tomorrow?"

"Nothing at all."

The Wardens' mage liaison blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Cauthrien chuckled, but when she spoke it was as flatly as Nerissa had earlier. "I'm forbidden court, didn't you know? I killed the Queen's father. She was convinced out of necessity to let me become a Warden, but she quite understandably doesn't want to see me about the palace."

"Oh. I guess I can understand that." An uncomfortable silence fell for a moment as Surana's finger traced what looked to be sigils on the tabletop. Then she looked up and met Cauthrien's eyes squarely. "I've been wondering…not that it's any of my business at all, but…why did you do it? You needn't tell me, of course, if you'd rather not. But I don't understand. Wasn't the Teyrn your lord?"

Cauthrien smiled grimly. "Do you know, you're the first who has had the balls to ask? And since we're to be working so closely together, you should probably know." She got up and went over to the sideboard where the drinks were kept, and selecting a decanter, poured herself a shot of whiskey. Returning, she said, "Ale won't suffice for this," and took a sip as she seated herself.

"For a while, I thought there was just the one reason, that I didn't want him to know defeat and imprisonment," Cauthrien said reflectively. "Now, I'm not so sure. I think there's probably more to it than that." She sighed and leaned back in her chair. "You're absolutely right, of course. Loghain _was_ my lord. He took me off the farm, and educated me. He gave me the world I wanted and thought would never have, and he knighted me, gave me status in that world. I owed him everything, and I killed him." She took another sip of the whiskey. "I assume you're aware of what happened at Ostagar?"

Surana nodded. "Yes. Wynne and some of the others who had survived told us."

"The Teyrn gave the order to retreat to me. I protested. _He_ had taught me how to read a field at a glance, how to assess a situation. I looked down into that valley and _knew_ that we could have saved the King. We might not have had enough men to actually win the day, but we could have managed a retreat in good order, and saved Cailan and the Wardens. But the Teyrn overruled me. I thought at the time that there _must_ have been something he, with his greater experience, had seen that I had not. I told myself it couldn't have been because of all the arguments he'd been having with Cailan about the King wanting to set Anora aside because they'd not had a child after five years. I told myself that over and over again, all those nights when I lay abed or was sleeping in the field and revisited every detail of that night at Ostagar." Cauthrien took another sip of the whiskey, then shook her head.

"Loghain wasn't himself ever again after that decision. Oh, he was still the best on the battlefield-there were several banns who found that out when they rebelled and paid with their lives. But even that was gall and ashes. It was _Fereldans_ we were killing, not Orlesian occupiers or darkspawn, during a time when we needed every able-bodied Fereldan we could get to kill darkspawn! And some of his other decisions… I blame Arl Howe in part, but I have to think in the end that the Teyrn was a great general, but a lousy ruler." She fell silent, unable to continue for a moment.

"The only experience I ever had of any of the Teyrn's decisions was that Uldred, the mage who tried to take over the Circle, tried to get the mages to support Loghain, saying that he had promised to get the Circle out from under Chantry control," Surana observed a bit hesitantly. "When they found out some of the things Loghain was doing, they refused to support him. Uldred tried to leave, was stopped, and the next thing we knew a demon had taken him and we were fighting blood mages and abominations at every turn." She shuddered, and her face went pale of a sudden. Cauthrien looked at her with concern.

"Are you all right?"

"I…I have bad memories of that time," the little elf admitted, shivering again. "Uldred caught a bunch of us and used blood magic to try to turn us into abominations. Succeeded with several of us, before the Prince and his party came and saved us."

Cauthrien got up and went over to the sofa, where a soft throw was tossed over the back. She took it and came back over to the mage, draping it over her shoulders. Surana huddled into it gratefully.

"Thanks."

"Uldred _tortured_ you?"

"Yeah. Not what you'd normally think of as torture-no racks or thumbscrews. Blood magic torture doesn't have to leave marks. But it _hurts_ nonetheless."

Loghain's former second had not personally had anything to do with what had gone on in Drakon and in Howe's dungeons. But she'd seen the aftermath of torture more than once. To have performed as she had done in the Battle of Denerim after what must have been a horrific experience-the little mage was startlingly resilient. "I'm sorry."

"Why? It wasn't _your_ fault."

Cauthrien took the opportunity to go back to the sideboard and refresh her glass, her brow furrowed. "Maybe not directly, but still…I have to wonder… The oath of knighthood requires that you give wise counsel to your lord when he needs it. I did try, so many times, to make him see that what he was doing was wrong. Rewarding Howe with Highever for slaughtering the Couslands without due process, for instance. But did I try hard enough? Loghain would always come up with some plausible reason for his actions and give me this reproachful look and ask me to trust him as I always had. And I always backed down."

"Well it's like you said," Surana said, making an obvious effort to master herself, even as she huddled beneath the blanket. "He'd given you everything. That's awfully hard to argue with."

"I was still obliged to try, for Ferelden's sake. After Ostagar and the death of the anointed king, it was as if Andraste and the Maker turned their faces away. Everything Loghain did seemed to go wrong. The Bannorn did not come to heel as he'd expected. Word came to us that a couple of Wardens had somehow survived-some of his men had encountered them in Lothering and gotten off the worse for it. They brought the Wardens' message back-'The Wardens know what _really_ happened.' When there were a couple of more failures to apprehend the Wardens, from bounty hunters and such, Howe encouraged my lord to send Crows after them. Not only did _that_ fail, Corin suborned the Crow leader over to _his_ side, using him against us. And then he suborned the rest of the Crows as well. When Howe went to them later, they refused another contract on him! Howe was furious, said he'd never seen the like!" Cauthrien's mouth quirked into a rather evil smile. "That was actually a good day. One of the few."

She sat back down and took up her whiskey again. "For me, I guess the point beyond which I could no longer delude myself about what was happening was the deal with the elves in the Alienage."

"Oh, the part where Loghain was selling them like _cattle_ to the Tevinters?" Surana said with sudden heat, sitting up straight. "I've heard about that from some of the servants." Cauthrien nodded.

"Exactly. He was selling free Fereldans into _slavery_, horrible slavery at the hands of blood mages."

"You do know that a good many of them were probably bled out and killed to power spells?" the elf mage asked, her eyes narrowed.

"I don't know much about magic, but yes, something like that had occurred to me. But even without that, even if they'd all gone to so-called 'good' homes, he was _still _destroying families, it was _still_ slavery and _still _against the law and _still _unforgivable. He had betrayed his people to get the gold to make up for his own mistakes."

"But you were still doing his dirty work."

Surana's tone was not accusing, she was simply stating a fact. Cauthrien nodded.

"I was, and that is my biggest sin. Had _I_ left him, would it finally have caused him to question his course? I don't know, but perhaps he feared just that. He kept me from the more…unsavory aspects…for the most part. He had Howe and Howe's thugs for that, because he knew I would not countenance it. Anora and I were both increasingly kept in the dark. Together we worked out a plan to discredit Howe and possibly kill him. We both felt that his influence on the Teyrn was much too strong and very unwholesome. She walked into Howe's hands intentionally, and Eamon sent the Warden to get her out, as we hoped he would. Corin killed Howe and I captured both him and Alistair."

Cauthrien sighed. "Loghain was so happy! He seemed much his old self, and not particularly upset at Howe's death at all. He clapped me on the shoulder, said I'd done magnificently. 'You've defanged Eamon nicely, my girl!,' he said. 'He won't be so eager to have his Landsmeet now that you've taken his Theirin! We'll settle the Landsmeet and put Cousland to the question, find out the whole extent of his plots with the Wardens!' He was adamant that Alistair not be hurt. I think that he intended to marry him to Anora. Loghain's triumphal mood lasted for maybe five hours, until Corin woke up and escaped from Drakon with Alistair. When he heard that Cousland had escaped…it was as if he saw his doom coming for him." She curled her big hands about her glass and stared down into the amber depths.

"So he set the person he trusted most at the doors of the Landsmeet, to keep Corin out. But Corin didn't resort to swords, and I still had enough honor left in me to listen to what he had to say. I used the arguments Loghain had used with me. Cousland tore them to shreds, and confronted me with all the questions I'd been asking myself over the last year. I won't go over the whole argument, but there was one thing he said in particular that really stuck with me, and that was ultimately the reason I let him pass." She looked across the table at Surana.

"Corin said, 'I'm trying to get into the Landsmeet to make a properly _legal_ argument against him and you're stopping me. So who exactly is upholding the rule of law in Ferelden?'"

"When he said that, I realized that it certainly wasn't _us_! We'd broken so much of Fereldan law, and for no good purpose. I looked at him, who was trying so hard to mend what was marred, who was keeping his eye upon the real danger facing us. And I knew that he was the only one who could get Ferelden out of the coil she was in. So I let him and Alistair pass."

"And then the Teyrn challenged Alistair and you killed him?"

"No. That's not what happened at all. First there was a lot of argument. And I watched as Corin destroyed Loghain's arguments one by one, even as he had done with me. The Teyrn was flailing and desperate, and in the end, he committed high treason."

"Treason?"

"Yes. He refused to relinquish his office when the Landsmeet voted him out. Corin asked him directly-'Do I understand you correctly, my lord teyrn? Are you denying that this Landsmeet has the right to remove you from office? Are you defying the authority of the Landsmeet of Ferelden?' And he said, 'I am.' That right there is treason of the highest order. My lord had just publicly declared himself a despot. Then Corin allowed Loghain the courtesy of single combat, which he certainly didn't have to do-they could have just arrested my lord at that point. And Corin chose Alistair as his champion."

"And you killed Loghain during the fight, because he was losing."

"Yes. Though he didn't know that yet."

"So why do you say there was more to it than that now?" Surana's brow was creased in puzzlement. "It seems pretty straightforward to me."

Cauthrien drank some more whiskey and smiled sadly. "Ah, but there were _layers_, Senior Enchanter, layers even _I _didn't realize were present until afterward, when I had time to think. The first one was this. I knew that Anora would not have allied herself with Corin had he not promised not to kill her father. So if Alistair won the combat, Loghain would be put in prison, until such time as he could stand trial. My lord did still have a few adherents. What if they broke him out? The civil war would start up again, and the darkspawn would take us as we squabbled. And if he stood trial? If the full extent of what Ferelden's greatest hero had been doing was revealed? People need their heroes, particularly in dark and dangerous times. Ferelden did _not _need for that trial to happen."

"So you basically killed him to _save_ him? What was left of his reputation, I mean?"

"Yes, I think that was part of it, though I didn't realize it at the time. And to spare not only him-but Ferelden- the shame of his imprisonment and trial. I knew that I would die when I did it. And I accepted that. It is the rightful punishment for a knight who has betrayed her lord and it was the utmost expiation I could do for those things I had been party to. But there was something beyond even that. Another layer, if you will, though it took me some time to admit it to myself."

"What was that?" came the elf's soft question.

"I was angry with Loghain. No, _furious_! That he'd led me down such a path, made me an accessory to such acts, when he'd trained me up to believe in a knight's honor! Corin had told me at the door that by making me party to all of the things he'd done, Loghain had betrayed his lord's oath to me, that he'd betrayed _me_ in some ways more than anyone else. I'd dismissed that at the time. But later I came to realize that he was right, and that I _had_ felt that betrayal and that I was hurt and angry about it. So upon some level, I have to admit that I was taking vengeance for myself." She fell silent, aware of the Surana's eyes fastened intently upon her.

"Wow. That's a lot of heavy thinking there."

"It is, isn't it? But then, I've had plenty of time to think lately-in prison and afterwards. Maker knows searching Denerim for pockets of Taint isn't very stimulating intellectually."

"But you _like_ being a Warden, don't you?" The elf's question was almost worried in tone.

Cauthrien shrugged. "I was supposed to die for killing my lord. Then I was supposed to die killing the Archdemon. I _never _expected to be alive at this point. The Wardens, it is said, are a refuge for maleficars, thieves and murderers." She smiled and there was a decidedly ironic twist to it. "So I fit right in! There's useful work I can do, and I'll do it without complaint, and to the best of my ability."

There was a long moment of silence. Then Surana said the last thing Cauthrien would have expected. "'Give to every man that work which best suits his nature and form,'" the little elf quoted softly. "'Make the fleet of foot and keen of eye your scouts. If they are strong of arm as well, make them archers…'"

"'…Give to those of girth and strength the task of holding your shield wall, and let the greatest among those be your pikemen,'" Cauthrien finished. She stared at Surana in delighted disbelief. "_You've_ read Gerontius?"

"Hello? _Battle_-mage here! Not that anyone encouraged me to train up as such and I didn't get any help. But it seemed to me that to be a battle-mage, one had to learn about _battles_ and how they were waged. So I read every book in Kinloch on the subject, not that there were that many. But we did have Gerontius' _Treatise Upon the Waging of War_."

"Have you seen the ones the Couslands have here?"

Surana nodded. "I'm reading Cathaire's _The Bride's March-A Military Account of the Campaign in Southern Tevinter_ right now."

"That's a good one!" Cauthrien exclaimed. "You have to sort through all the fervid religious stuff, since he was one of her disciples, and the language is a bit stilted, but it's still a good account! I've got a couple of books as well that I can lend you."

The elf mage smiled brightly. "I'd like that!"

"If we ever get a place of our own for the Wardens, we'll set up a map table and some tokens and chart some battles out. It really helps you see what happened, from the bird's eye perspective."

"I've always heard about those. I'd like to see one. They're supposed to be really useful."

"They are. They help you learn to do it in your head." Cauthrien got to her feet. "You've got a big day of ceremonies and feasting and dancing in front of you. I'll let you get some rest."

"Don't remind me!" Surana said, wrinkling her nose. "About the dancing, I mean. Leliana taught me a couple of things, but I know next to nothing about it. But I actually don't think I'll be dancing anyway. Who'd ask _me_, charming ringlets or not? I'll probably spend most of the time telling people who want me to fetch them drinks to sod off. I've got this Warden armband thing that the Teyrna made me to wear, but I don't know if they'll realize what it means." She gave the much taller knight a mournful look. "I feel bad for you, not getting to see any of the festivities."

"Don't. I'll go down to the Lower Marketplace. They're roasting some cows and pigs down there, courtesy of the crown. I'll probably have a much better time of it than you will, to be honest. Who knows, maybe I'll even get to dance, now that I have tits!"

"You might at that!" the elf agreed, chuckling. "It will be a lot less stuffy at the very least! Good night, Ser Cauthrien!"

"How about you don't call me Ser and I don't call you Senior Enchanter?"

"Works for me!" came Surana's cheerful response. "Good night, Cauthrien!"

"Good night, Nerissa."


	53. Chapter 53

Thanks everyone for being so very patient. I got sick over the holidays and my muse fled, apparently in fear of contagion. So many kind reveiwers! I appreciate you all-Guest, Zukafew119, Guest again, silverharafox, karthik9, FloridaMagpie, dragonzoid2001, Preier, bob rijke (x2!), Shadow Tricked, Zxzdragon, Ie-maru, Anon, GammaJam, , SuperGravyMan, Genericrandom, lazyguy90, mille libri, Twigon Halolover, Xynth, none, Eclipse1234, 17986, M2J MandalorianJedi, lucky14now, Ronin Kenshin, Mike3207, Nightbrainzz, kirbster676, Lokken.8, Melysande, and LiveWithHonour.

We actually get them to the wedding this chapter!

* * *

><p>Alistair had actually felt sleepy for once, probably because of the drink they'd all been imbibing, and had gone off to bed. Since the bachelor party had never materialized, Zevran had retired to the Pearl for the evening, promising to indulge enough to make up for the rest of them. Oghren was currently snoring in sodden disharmony beneath the dining room table, where the maids would undoubtedly be displeased to find him in the morning. Which left Fergus and Corin sitting in front of the fire in Eamon's sitting room.<p>

"There was no carousing," Fergus complained. "The one time we're both of age and single, and there was no carousing. You spent your last night as a bachelor with a Revered Mother, of all things." But he did not seem particularly put out, sipping his Starkhaven whiskey as he stared thoughtfully into the fire.

"I promised Anora I'd only sleep with her," came Corin's response as he shifted a little in his chair to get more comfortable. His healing was all but complete, he'd even begun to cautiously spar again in the last week, but there was still the odd twinge now and again.

"Isn't that pretty much covered by the betrothal vow?"

"We both know that wedding and betrothal vows are paid lip service to, particularly among noblemen. After the way Cailan treated her, Anora _needed_ me to make that extra oath. And it's not as if it's a hardship being faithful to her."

"Really? I had wondered." Fergus' tone was carefully neutral. Corin straightened up and gave him a stare as cutting as blue diamond.

"Did Cailan ever talk about…them…to you?"

"A little, every now and then." Cailan's closest friend grimaced. "He didn't say much-I gather he felt it wasn't fair to Anora-but he was disappointed and rather puzzled."

Corin snorted and settled back in his chair. "Apparently, he would rather have complained than have tried anything new or different. Anora's perfectly good in bed. She just needed a little coaxing and encouragement. I'm sorry, I know he was your friend, but the evidence has forced me to conclude that the man was a clod in the sack."

"It's possible. Subtlety and Cailan weren't even remotely acquainted," Fergus admitted. After a moment of silence, he asked, "So-the two of you are getting along well? I must say that as Anora's friend, it feels really weird to me that you're marrying her. But I also have to say that I appreciate that you have such care for her."

"As of tomorrow, she'll be my wife as well as my Queen and the mother of my child. Of course I have care for her. And yes, we get along very well. I consider myself fortunate. She's got brains and courage and a full set of wits. Which is much more than I might have gotten anywhere else." Corin sipped his own drink. "Speaking of which-any ideas about what to do with the Orlesian princess who's floating around the court? I suspect she was intended as a temptation for me, to cause trouble."

"An attractive, nubile young virgin who is actually tolerable for an Orlesian and is mad about horses? Whatever gave you that idea?" Fergus asked, grinning. Corin shook his head.

"It's totally unlikely, isn't it? Seriously, though. Think _you_ could see your way clear to marrying her? The alliance might keep Orlais off of our backs, for a while at least."

The Teyrn of Highever's face darkened and his brow furrowed. He threw back some more whiskey before replying, "If you _absolutely _needed me to for the sake of the kingdom then I would, Corin. But I would rather not. I'm not much inclined to be marrying at all right now, as you well know."

"I know." Corin's voice was soft for a moment. Then it hardened. "But I need you to put an heir on the ground as soon as possible, Fergus, with whomever you think you can do that with. More than one, preferably. This child may be the only one I ever get, as I explained to you, and there's no guarantee that Anora will carry it successfully. And if Alistair doesn't come through-and he suffers from the same handicap I do-you're next in line for the throne."

"You don't have to tell _me_ anything about child mortality, Corin!" Fergus snapped. Then he shook his head. "Sorry, Pup. Raw nerve there. And I know what my responsibilities are. I'd just like to go back to Highever first, and make sure things are settled there before I start courting anyone."

Fergus's little brother knew when it was time to back off. "I think that's a good idea," he said in a conciliatory tone. "We can certainly spare you that much time. Are you still thinking of Alfstanna?"

"Yes. Alfie has apparently been longing for me since she was a girl." At Corin's raised eyebrow, Fergus chuckled. "I know, I know, it's unfathomable! But we've worked together enough over the years that I feel I know her pretty well, and I'm comfortable with her. A marriage where there's friendship on one side to start and love on the other seems as if it would work well enough." He gave Corin a penetrating look. "Isn't that what you're counting on?"

"_Touché. _You've got me there."

"What about letting _Alistair_ marry Henriette?"

"I've been weighing the pros and cons of that one quite a bit myself, and haven't come to a conclusion yet. I don't really like the idea of putting even more Orlesian blood into the Theirin line than is already there, should Alistair's true parentage come to light." Corin had apprised Fergus, with Alistair's permission, of the tale of Fiona.

"Any reason to think it would?" Fergus asked skeptically. "I mean, outside of us, Alistair, Anora, Eamon and Teagan, nobody knows. Unless you think Isolde does."

Corin shuddered. "There's a scary thought! No, I'm pretty sure she doesn't know the whole story, given that she was so certain Eamon was Alistair's father for so long."

"Henriette is a nice girl. No pretense at all. She's arguably better off with us than her countrymen. And I think she and Alistair would suit."

"That's on the positive side of the ledger for me as well. But as a further negative, you know that Anora and I are giving him Amaranthine tomorrow. That's going to be hard enough for him without an Orlesian wife."

"True enough." Fergus' face went grave and still for a moment. Corin immediately went on the alert, for he knew that expression well.

"Something the matter, Fergus?"

"I need to give you a warning. Uncle Leonas cornered me today after Council, said he wanted me to talk to you about something."

"Which was?"

"He wants Alistair for Habren."

Corin shook his head. "Absolutely not! Cousin Habren is a nasty little piece of work. We promised Alistair we'd find him a _nice_ wife!"

"You may not have a choice, Corin. Uncle Leonas has Dragon's Peak, Ceorlic and some of the Bannorn lords backing him. Nasty piece of work or not, Habren is the highest-ranking noble maiden available. An arl's daughter is the appropriate bride for an Arl. And the lords all want the Theirin heir marrying a Fereldan. Not only a Fereldan, but one from the good old houses. Since the Kendalls only had Vaughn and Delilah Howe is married and Mother never had a daughter and _you_ are marrying Anora, that means Habren. And it would bind him more tightly to us in kinship, though it's indirect. There's a _lot _of enthusiasm for the idea, and if you want to ram through some of the other things I know that you're going to try to do, you may have to give on this one."

"Habren is our cousin. If things go through as I hope they do and Alistair's child and mine marry…"

"They'd be second cousins, as you well know. Far enough apart that the Chantry won't care."

"Damn. You're right." Corin scowled. _I __**really**__ don't want to do that to Alistair! But he might just have to suck it up and take the fall for us. I don't need another sodding civil war on my hands! _His ever-busy mind began ticking over calculations, considering allies and opponents, weighing the pros and cons and the various permutations of each one.

Watching him ponder, seeing the almost blazing vitality he exhibited now that he was well, Fergus found it difficult to believe the other disadvantage of the Joining Corin had told him about.

"Corin?" he asked softly. Something in his tone snapped Corin's attention back to him immediately.

"Yes, Fergus?"

"Are you _sure_ about the thirty year thing?"

"No."

Fergus blew out a relieved breath. "Because what you did might have saved you from it?"

Corin's mouth tightened. He got to his feet and leaned against the mantle, the fire lighting his face from below, casting deep shadows. "No, because what I did made me unprecedented. I'm the only Warden who has ever survived slaying an Archdemon. Did that make the Taint I carry stronger or weaker? How did it affect me? Morrigan saved me on the day, but for how long? No way to tell, really. I could have thirty years, or live out my full span. Or I could have ten or maybe even less." He smiled grimly at his brother's look of shocked comprehension.

"As you can imagine, it terrifies me. All I can do is take every day as it comes. I've got a whole lot to accomplish, Fergus, and maybe not a lot of time to do it in."

* * *

><p><em>Tradition be damned, <em>Anora thought as she woke up bleary and disgruntled on her wedding day. Having Corin sleep away at Eamon's had been a mistake. Far too easy to lie awake in the dark, thinking of what he could be up to at the Pearl or with someone else. _I am assuming that he would have assumed he had the traditional dispensation without asking me, regardless of his oath._ She had not had him followed, though the idea had been tempting. The struggle not to become a jealous harpy was one she had to fight perpetually since she'd become betrothed to her extremely handsome and charismatic young prince.

"_I will admit that I was precocious in regards to sex and started a bit early." _Corin's own words, from one of their earliest interviews. So no blame to him if he had taken one last night of license before locking himself into doubly oath-bound monogamy with her!

Anora almost wished he hadn't sworn that oath of fidelity, despite the reassurance it had given her. Though he was a man of his word, he was not yet even twenty and there was still the faintest possibility that he might be seduced. The thought of the damage being foresworn would do to him was oddly almost as bad as the hurt _she_ would feel. There had been girls dangling themselves before him since he had awakened from slaying the Archdemon, and even before, and that would not stop just because he had been married and crowned King. Anora's pregnancy was not common knowledge just yet and she was sure that there were several nobly-born maidens willing to risk loss of reputation, sure that they could bear the King a son in Anora's stead and ultimately supplant her, if only they could tempt Corin into their beds.

And what would happen if she lost this child and could not get another? She knew the constraints he labored under in that regard. He'd promised that Alistair's children would inherit, but what if Alistair was unable? He would be obliged to get an heir someplace else, as his royal duty. Even after Anora had been finally able to get to sleep, deep in the watches of the night, she had not slept well, and for the last two hours had been fighting a crawling, ever-increasing nausea. Eventually it had become impossible to ignore.

"Erlina!" she croaked, and the maid immediately popped in through her door, obviously having been waiting for Anora's summons for some time. One look at her mistress's green face and she hastened over to the bedside with a basin.

Anora lost the battle with her stomach and emptied it into the basin. When she had finished, Erlina whisked the offensive container away, returning with a hot cup of the tea Wynne had prescribed, its minty aroma starting to soothe the nausea even before the Queen drank it.

"Thank you, Erlina," she said after drinking half the cup. "You are a lifesaver!" The maid smiled. "What is the hour?"

"An 'our after sunrize. I waz going to wake you up soon if you did not do so yourself," Erlina said. "Teyrna Eleanor is waiting without. Should I let 'er in?"

"Please. I suppose I'd better be up and about it."

Upon her entrance, Eleanor took one look at Anora and smiled knowingly. "Nuptial nerves, is it?"

"Nuptial nerves and nausea," Anora admitted.

"You could very well have had the nausea from just the nerves, as I'm sure you know. But I'm sorry you have to do this feeling less than well, Anora."

"Less than well or not, it has to be done," came the Queen's grim rejoinder. The Teyrna raised an eyebrow.

"Second thoughts?"

"No. And yes. I trust Corin, I do, it's just…you should always have second thoughts, I think, the second time around. I was sure that things would be great with Cailan because I'd grown up with him. They were in a lot of ways, but others… I don't have to tell you how that turned out." Finally feeling that her stomach was under control, Anora slid out of the bed and stretched. "Am I doing the right thing, do you think?"

Eleanor gave the question serious consideration. "My personal bias towards my son aside, I have to say yes," she said at last. "There was a moment where you could have taken the throne by yourself had you chosen to do so, relegated Corin to Warden Commander. You know exactly when that moment was. But your claim isn't all that strong, Anora, and there would have been men among the old families who questioned your authority. I think you'd have had to kill some people to hold the throne; more, perhaps, than you would have liked. And Ferelden can't afford to lose too many more people. Right now, because Corin is the Hero and you threw your support behind him even before he was, people are unified behind the two of you. And that is exactly the thing that might enable this country to survive. So from my point of view, this is the best decision you could have made."

"That's comforting."

The Teyrna smiled. "It's my job to be comforting, this morning." Then the smile turned to a grin much like her son's. "_And_ to make sure you don't escape!"

Anora actually managed a laugh. "Well, let's be about it then. Erlina, if you please?"

The maid went to the door that led to her chambers and opened it. The Alienage seamstresses streamed in with her wedding dress and set to work.

* * *

><p>Despite the early hour, many of Ferelden's highest ranking ladies were gathered in a parlor at the Palace, waiting for the Queen's appearance, so that they could all process into the Landsmeet chamber. A sideboard of delicacies had been set out for them to graze upon until Anora's arrival. And some of them were doing just that, careful of their fine gowns, while others eyed the lone elf in the room with wary disdain.<p>

Nerissa was decidedly uncomfortable. Teyrna Eleanor had brought her down here after breakfast with orders to stay put. She'd been one of the first people in the room, but it hadn't taken long to fill after her arrival. She found herself wishing for Irving, who could always make sense of social situations. These were important women, and she didn't want to do anything that would bring censure upon the Circle, or Maker forbid, get her sent back to Kinloch altogether. She stayed in the corner she'd picked out and refrained from getting a snack herself since she didn't know how that would be received, her fingers stroking the armband with the silver griffon and her staff, which Eleanor had also asked her to bring.

The door opened once more and three younger girls stepped in. The one in the lead, fabulously dressed even for this company, with rich chestnut hair and blue-green eyes surveyed the room for a moment before her eyes fell upon Nerissa.

"You! Elf! Come over here!"

Not much liking the tenor of the command, Nerissa nonetheless approached the young lady. She looked to be about seventeen years old, a pretty girl, though her expression was marred by lines of petulance bracketing her mouth.

"My useless maid didn't tighten these laces properly!" the young noblewoman complained, turning her back to Nerissa. "See that you do better."

Making an effort to repress her irritation, Nerissa responded in a civil tone she was sure Irving would have been proud of. "You appear to be laboring under a misapprehension, my lady. I'm not a maid."

The girl spun around, affronted. "What do you mean you're not a _maid_! Do my laces _now_, knife-ear!"

_Control is paramount in the practice of magic. Emotion must be continually repressed, lest it cause unexpected results. _The old homily echoed in her mind as Nerissa took a firm grip on her temper.

"I am Senior Enchanter Nerissa Surana, Circle Liason to the Grey Wardens," she said politely and with admirable calm, even while thinking, _**Hello, **__idiot! Don't you see the staff? What do you think it is-extra firewood? _The effect of her restraint was a bit spoilt when she couldn't resist adding, "So I don't do laces, unless they're my own."

The young noblewoman's jaw dropped in amazement. "Of all the _cheek_!" Then her eyes narrowed. "If you're a mage, where is your Templar escort? Perhaps I should call the guards!"

"Senior Enchanters are free to go abroad without Templar escort, Habren," remarked a red-haired lady in a gown of black, gold and blue brocade, who was standing nearby watching the exchange. "If you'd paid any kind of attention to your lessons, you'd know that."

Lady Habren was not impressed. "She doesn't look old enough to be a Senior Enchanter, Bann Alfstanna. I've seen some of the ones here in the palace and they're all _old_! I think she's lying!"

Alfstanna sighed. "She's not lying, Habren. She _is_ a Senior Enchanter. I know who she is."

"Senior Enchanter rank has nothing to do with age, my lady," Nerissa put in. "It's all about how good you are at your sort of magic. And I'm _very _good with mine."

"And what sort of magic is that?" Habren snapped.

Nerissa felt cool air hit her teeth as her lips skinned back in a smile that was decidedly wolfish. But her voice was cheerful as she said, "The kind that kills things. _Lots_ of things. Very _quickly_." Murmurs rose from the watching audience. She knew better than to manifest so much as a candle-flame in a tense situation, but she shifted her staff to her other arm. Even that innocuous motion made the young noblewoman start and take a step backward. From what she obviously (and erroneously) figured was a safer distance she demanded, "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"No. How could I? Lived most of my life in the Circle, after all. Are you someone important?" There was something that sounded suspiciously like a snicker, quickly repressed, from Bann Alfstanna's direction.

Lady Habren's face flushed an unbecoming red. "_I _am Habren Bryland! My father, Leonas Bryland, is the Arl of South Reach! So Senior Enchanter or not, you'd best watch your lip or there will be trouble!"

Nerissa was just about done with this. "Oh. I see. But I'm afraid there's a problem, Lady Habren. Ever since I stood toe to toe with the Archdemon," another murmur from the noblewomen, "I've found that my criteria for what I consider _trouble_ has been irreparably redefined. I'm very sorry if that inconveniences you." To add insult to injury, she dipped a little curtsey.

"Hmmmph!" Habren flounced off, conceding the field.

Chuckling, the red-haired woman came over. "Corin said you were a firecracker!" She extended her hand. "Alfstanna, Bann of Waking Sea."

A bit surprised, Nerissa extended hers in turn and took the bann's, which was warm and bow-callused. "Senior Enchanter Nerissa Surana at your service, your ladyship."

"I've heard bits about the battle on the roof. Good work you did there."

"And I've heard about you in the field with the Dalish. That was well done"

They stared at each other in mutual approval for a moment. Then Alfstanna released her hand and patted her gently on the shoulder.

"Did you get breakfast? Are you hungry? My brother was a Templar and he told me once that mages need to eat a lot when they're working."

"That's true," Nerissa admitted, surprised again. "Food is a lot better than lyrium for you, but it's also a lot slower as far as the recharge goes. I've not been doing any spell casting over the last couple of days, so I'm all right there. But I didn't get much breakfast."

"Then come and get something to eat."

They went over to the food table and Alfstanna watched as Nerissa got herself a plate of pastries, her stance and raised eyebrow daring anyone to say anything, which they did not.

"You needn't worry about Habren," the bann said in an undertone, after filling a plate for herself. "If she tries to cause you trouble, I'll step in. Leonas might have done a bum job raising his daughter, but he's not blind to her faults. I'm his friend and I was a witness."

"I did get a little hot under the collar there. The First Enchanter would say it was time for another teaching moment."

Alfstanna's eyes twinkled. "You had cause. You were provoked. Did you get a lot of 'teaching moments' when you were growing up?"

"Maker, yes!"

"So did I, as it happens." She patted her plaited red head. "Bit of a hot temper, I'm afraid."

They chatted companionably for a few minutes about their experiences in the battle. They'd just set their plates aside when the door opened and an elf, this one an actual maid from the look of her, stepped through and raised her voice.

"'Er Majesty Anora, Queen of Ferelden."

Everyone curtseyed deeply as the Queen came in, followed by Teyrna Eleanor. Nerissa had only seen her far up at the high table in the evenings. Her beauty was much more apparent at closer range. Pieces of her long, blonde hair were twined in a coronet to support Ferelden's crown upon her head, while the rest poured like a pale gold waterfall down her back. Her complexion was flawless, her cosmetics artfully applied. She moved in a rustle of brocade and a swish of flowing silk; iconic, golden, surveying the room with an imperious look and lifted golden brow.

"Please, everyone, rise," she said and when they had done so, added, "Alfstanna, you and Eleanor are my witnesses."

A murmur arose as Bann Alfstanna curtseyed once more and approached the Queen. Nerissa thought there was disappointment in the sound.

Suddenly, the Queen's gaze passed over her and settled, to her great surprise. "Senior Enchanter. Please approach Us."

Astounded, Nerissa did so a bit slowly, dropping to one knee with a sigh of skirts and wishing again fervently that Irving was here.

"We would like you to accompany Us to the Landsmeet chamber and stand close by. Teyrna Eleanor thinks your presence would provide some extra security. Are you willing to do this?"

"I would be most happy to, Your Majesty."

"Excellent! You may rise." Her pale hand gestured towards the Teyrna and the Bann. Please join the witnesses." Nerissa did as she was bidden. Anora surveyed the rest of the room.

"The rest of you, fall in according to precedence. We are going to the Landsmeet chamber now."

A bit of a tumult followed, as ladies scurried to relieve themselves of their plates and do some quick primping. Nerissa was a little dazed by the way things had worked out, but given that she was supposed to be doing bodyguard duty, repressed it firmly and began scanning for trouble. So she didn't miss Bann Alfstanna's grin and her thumbs-up behind the Queen's back as they processed out of the room.

* * *

><p>The last ride of the Crown Prince of Ferelden took place on a clear, cold day. There wasn't much wind and little puffy clouds sent down the occaisional flurry of snow, which spangled his black hair and the blue Highever cloak like thrown flower petals.<p>

He was clad all in white and gold and cut quite the royal figure as he rode out from Eamon's courtyard on his prancing black steed. Behind him were the flower of Ferelden's nobility, led by his brother Teyrn Fergus and the Warden Commander of Ferelden.

Turning left out of the gate instead of right caused some confusion among his followers and some creative Antivan and Orlesian cursing from up on the rooftops. Instead of processing immediately through the Lower Market, he headed out the city gate towards the refugee camp.

There weren't actually that many refugees there-most of them were in the marketplace waiting on him-and on the feast that was beginning to send luscious odors into the air. But there were some who feared leaving their few possessions and some City Guards tasked to keep an eye on things, and it was those people he rode out to see, pausing to give a word of thanks to the guards and encouragement to the people. Fergus, watching how they lit up when Corin spoke to them realized that his brother definitely possessed a deft hand for dealing with his subjects. _They'll remember for the rest of their lives that he took the time on his coronation day to speak to them. A moment on his part to engender a lifetime of loyalty!_

From the camp, the procession turned back and went into the marketplace itself, which was packed with bodies. Though no flower petals were possible, everyone was dressed in their best and there were scarves and little homemade flags and ribbon streamers flying everywhere, as joyous a sight as could be imagined. Progress slowed to a walk as people pressed close, hoping to touch the hem of the Prince's cloak or his boot or Sable's satin shoulder. This caused more international pejoratives from the opposite sides of the marketplace. It would be only too easy for an assassin to slip close in such a crowd. But the Prince merely smiled and waved and tolerated the press. The Cousland charisma was out in full force; he seemed almost alight as he passed among his people.

No assassins appeared. The cheering was a continuous, raucous thing that seemed to shiver the air. "Maker keep the Queen and the Crown Prince!" "Lady keep our Royals!" and other such sentiments were heard along with a continual chant of "Corin! Corin! Corin!"

He went through the Alienage gate next, something that _had _been planned with his two security experts, though some of the lords were startled. The procession clattered over the wooden planked section in the middle of the bridge where the Archdemon had broken it and onto the planked road that had replaced the mud and slime of the old Alienage road. The elves had been busy here; many newer, paler boards striped the old wooden buildings. The Prince paused beneath the _vhenendahl _to say a few gracious words to the elves and to listen to a small chorus of elven children sing him a song. At the conclusion of the song, he actually got off of his horse to take a moment and speak to the children, to the consternation of his noblemen.

"You don't want to take too long. Anora might reconsider," Fergus said, nudging him.

Corin grinned up at his brother. "I think she'll understand." And he took every little hand in turn to praise each small singer before mounting Sable once more.

Out of the Alienage, the road widened and though both sides were packed with people, here the guard were out in force to keep the way clear. The procession increased speed to a trot.

Fergus turned to Alistair, who was riding stirrup to stirrup with him. In the weeks before the wedding, Teyrna Eleanor had not forgotten her son's best friend and had made sure there were seamstresses to craft him a proper Grey Warden dress uniform in dark blue, with the rampant silver griffons embroidered in bullion on the chest. He looked very dashing.

"You sure you're all right with this?" the Teyrn asked him. "No second thoughts?"

"None at all!" Alistair assured him. "But I'm not going to be able to really relax until we get Corin wed and get that crown on his head."

"It shouldn't be long now," Fergus noted. The Palace was in sight.

* * *

><p>Inside the Landsmeet chamber, Anora sat upon her throne, back straight, head held high. The crown and scepter of Ferelden sat upon a velvet cushion on the King's throne, glittering in the beams of light that streamed down from the high windows.<p>

The assembled Fereldans glittered as well. The Landsmeet chamber was filled to bursting it seemed, with everyone who had the least right to attend having left their lands to do so.

_A fine audience for the end of a dynasty and the beginning of another, _Anora thought a bit morbidly. Eleanor, Alfstanna and the little mage were standing beside her throne, while Grand Cleric Elemena and Princess Henriette were seated in throne-like chairs on the dais beside the King's throne.

Corin's progress could be tracked by the dull roar that could be heard even through the closed doors and thick walls of the chamber. It grew louder and louder as he drew near. Doubts she thought had been laid to rest and memories of the last time she'd done this flitted through Anora's mind.

At the first, at least, Cailan had imagined himself in love with her. She'd had that much. And even though he'd slept around quite a bit when that fancy ended, he'd never given another woman his true affection. If he'd not truly been in love with her, he hadn't been in love with anyone else either-except, of course, for possibly being infatuated with Celene there at the end. Anora knew that. And look how matters had turned out between them! Surely things wouldn't go any better with a man who admitted he was in love with another woman? What would happen if Morrigan, despite Alistair's assertions to the contrary, returned?

For a moment she imagined getting up and racing out of the Landsmeet chamber, fleeing somewhere far away-or at least as far as Gwaren. Then the doors of the Landsmeet chamber were pushed open and the noise of the crowd outside crested and poured into the room, bidding fair to drown out the herald, who was reduced to almost bellowing.

"All rise for His Royal Highness, Corin Cousland, Blight-Queller and Crown Prince of Ferelden!"

And it was too late to escape, for there he was, the resplendent young man she knew that she loved, pacing majestically up the aisle. Alistair and Fergus were at his back while Eamon led the rest of the noblemen, who gradually peeled off and made their way to their seats. If Corin had reveled the night before there was no sign of it she could see. He was smiling and serene, his eyes fixed upon either her or the throne, Anora couldn't tell which. Grand Cleric Elemena got up and made her way to the front of the dais, so Anora did so as well, Eleanor and Alfstanna falling in behind her, twitching the train of her gown into place.

Corin came up the stairs with deliberate slowness, and fell in beside her. Before Elemena could begin talking, he met Anora's eyes and cleared his throat, gesturing with one hand up and down his body. Anora stared at him in puzzlement for a moment. Was he wanting her to compliment him? That seemed very unlike him. When she did not respond, his eyebrow lifted and he repeated the gesture, clearing his throat again more loudly.

_How odd. I think he wants me to admire his suit! _Puzzled, Anora started to look him over. Then it hit her. Corin was golden roses from head to foot. Roses on the brocade of his doublet. Roses embroidered in gold buillion on the fringed cuffs of his gloves. Roses rioting in gold profusion against white and fawn colored-leather on one of the most gorgeous pairs of boots Anora had ever seen. A line of golden roses twined down the outside seam on his pants and the clasp of his cloak was two golden roses. And in his ear…_when did he get his ear pierced?_…was an earring in the shape of a rose whose stem curled about a sapphire that was a smaller match for the one in her wedding ring.

Golden roses everywhere. Roses that if painted heraldically, would be yellow… A declaration of highly improper thoughts that only Anora would understand. She stared at him in astonishment. Corin's summer-sky eyes were wide with what was patently false innocence, while his mouth, with that self-satisfied curl at the corners, told a different tale.

In the space of that moment all of Anora's doubts died.

* * *

><p>People watching were puzzled. There was some sort of odd exchange between the Crown Prince and the Queen. He was gesturing and she was staring. Was there some sort of last minute objection or difficulty? Even the witnesses seemed puzzled.<p>

Then suddenly, shockingly, Anora began to laugh. Anora, who had always (at least until recently) behaved impeccably during ceremonies, began to laugh. And not a giggle or a quiet laugh either; a full-throated, head-thrown-back laugh the likes of which no one had ever seen from her. It rose to the rafters. Corin joined her and it became contagious. The audience joined in as well, laughing and clapping for no reason they could see. But they did see the Queen throw her arms about the Prince's neck, and see him grin widely before he bent his head to kiss her.

Grand Cleric Elemena did not bellow exactly, but she was an experienced orator and her voice did cut through the tumult.

"Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness! We've a little business to get through first before you start doing that!"

Another laugh rose from the crowd as the ceremony began.


End file.
